


Here We Are as In Olden Days

by nutmeag83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Boxing Day, Christmas, December - Freeform, Dialogue-Only, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hanukkah, Humor, Interconnected FIclets, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Years, No Mary Morstan, POV Multiple, Post-Reichenbach, Sherlock December Ficlet Challenge, Texting, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 14:19:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 27,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12866310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeag83/pseuds/nutmeag83
Summary: Sherlock returns from the dead. John breaks up with Mary. They're slammed in the face by winter and all that comes with it. Feelings happen.Or the one where John and Sherlock navigate their feelings for each other while also navigating the holidays.





	1. 1 December, Peppermint

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @Missdaviswrites’s 2017 [Sherlock December Ficlets](http://missdaviswrites.tumblr.com/post/167644180668/sherlock-december-ficlets) challenge. I’ll be posting one story a day throughout December. I've already got half of them written, so no worries about them languishing without an ending!
> 
> These ficlets are loosely interconnected. The storyline posits that John and Mary broke up after John never ends up actually proposing to Mary, and John moves back to Baker Street. The stories take place just a month or so after Sherlock’s return. Even though these ficlets are interconnected, I’m using different styles for each one, so you’ll see some dialogue-only, epistolary, texting, etc mixed in with normal storytelling styles. I also get a bit crazy with the formatting, so beware.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Not beta'd or Brit-picked. It's the holidays, go easy on me. ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's diet is discussed. John just wants him around for a long time. Is that too much to ask?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a few hours early for Dec 1, but I couldn't wait! Here's the first of my December Sherlock fics. Enjoy!

“I’m beginning to worry that you’ll develop diabetes.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“ _I’m_ ridiculous? You’re the one drinking those disgusting peppermint coffee concoctions on a daily basis.”

… “I like peppermint.”

“I see that. I’m sure your pancreas would prefer you choose otherwise.”

“My pancreas is fine. It’s one time a year, John. Let me enjoy it.”

“One time a year? What about the pumpkin ones last month? And the chocolate ones you’re also fond of. Not mention the sugar you add to your regular coffee, the heaps of marmalade or honey you add to your toast, and the pastries and sweets you sneak from Mrs. Hudson. One time of the year my arse.”

“Shut up, John.”

“You know what? No, I won’t shut up. I want you around for a good long while, and I’m already contending with psycho killer enemies and your need to sacrifice yourself for those you love. I do the best I can to shield you from those, but if I can keep you healthy while I’m at it, I’m going to do it. You left me once. I won’t let you do it again.”

“You… surely you’ll tire of me long before I can succumb to diabetes.”

Only slightly bitter laugh. “Really? I dump my almost-fiancée and move back in with you, and you think I’ll get tired of you? That ship has long ago sailed.”

“Oh.”

Shuffle. “Don’t worry. I’m not proposing to you or anything. I’ve just decided that I’d rather have criminal chases than nights cuddled in front of the telly with a bottle of wine.”

…

“Sherlock, where are you going?”

“Welcome to Star– Oh, hullo again. Something wrong with your drink?”

“Yes. It’s likely to give me diabetes. One regular tea, please.”

* * *

“You didn’t have to do that, Sherlock.”

“Of course I did. I can’t very well satiate your danger addiction if I’m dead, can I?”

“Oi! I don’t have a dan–”

“ _I’ve just decided that I’d rather have criminal chases than nights cuddled in front of the telly with a bottle of wine_.”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“Yes, you do. That was a perfect impersonation.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”

“I do say. I could’ve been an actor, you know.”

“Don’t I ever, Mr. Drama Queen.”

“You’re a drama queen too.”

“Probably why we get along with each other and no one else can stand us.”

“Mmm.”

“Um… Thank you, Sherlock. For… I know things have been a bit awkward since, well, you know. But… I am glad you’re back. You’re right. I am a bit addicted to danger.”

_“#sherlocklives means #johnwatsonlives_.”

“Shut up. I had a pique of sentiment.”

“Maybe… sentiment isn’t a completely bad thing.”


	2. 2 December, Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shopping lists at Baker Street are a work in progress...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the first of my formatted chapters. I use work skins, so you need to have Author Work Skin showing. I hope it's not a mess! I suggest reading this one on a computer for the full effect of handwriting. But a tablet should at least sort of work. In theory. It looks like crap on a phone, though.
> 
> Also sorry this chapter is so short. But I really liked the idea of dialogue through a shopping list. Chapter 3 will yield a more normal narrative style, though. No worries. ;)

  
milk  
beans  
bread  
~~Chocolate hobnobs~~    Never mind  
Oranges  
coffee  
Pasta  
~~Bleach~~    I’m not doing your experiment shopping, Sherlock. This is a grocery list!  
~~Nitrile gloves~~  
~~Slides~~  
bleach   Can be found at any normal shop  
Nicotine patches  Are you quitting again? That’s great, Sherlock. I’m proud of you!  
Fairy lights  Oh, God. We’re not doing a party again this year, are we? Tedious.  
            Shut up. We’re doing it. Mrs. Hudson asked. Fine. I’m not wearing the antlers though.  
             Not my problem.  
~~Nitrile gloves   If you can get fairy lights, you can get my gloves~~  
Butter  
Ginger  
Flour  
Golden syrup

Are you making gingernuts?  Might do.  But I can’t have sugar anymore.  It’s okay occasionally, especially for the holidays.  Oh. They’re my favourite.  I know. :)  



	3. 3 December, All Dressed Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a bit snazzy for a party. Sherlock is impressed. And a bit jealous.

John came trundling down the stairs from his room just as Sherlock settled in his chair with a stack of forensics journals. It still felt odd that he could do whatever he wanted again. That he wasn’t hiding in yet another dingy inn with terrible wifi and too pungent carpeting. That he could listen to John’s stair clomping, slow typing, and infectious laughing. It was odd, but it was good. Perfect. He’d have laughed if someone had told him five years ago that this would be his life and that he would love every minute of it, even the boring bits. Things had changed a lot in five years, though. _He_ had changed, thanks to John. So here he was, older, wiser, and reveling in the simple fact that he could hear John’s footsteps again.

Sherlock caught his breath as John entered the room, though whether it was because of the picture John presented or the implications of said picture, Sherlock didn’t know. He wore a gray suit, new since they last lived together—but of course, that was two years gone—blue shirt open at the collar, and black shoes. Sherlock had never seen him so put together or handsome. But _why_ did he need to look so put together? He had stated only a few days before that he was done with dating. Had he changed his mind already? Not surprising, given that he couldn’t seem to be without a girlfriend before.

Sherlock’s chest felt tight. Even though John was quick to point out that his feelings for Sherlock were still firmly in the realm of platonic, Sherlock had felt lighter when John had admitted he wanted them to basically spend the rest of their lives together, and that there would be no more girlfriends. It wasn’t quite what he wished for, but it was close enough. He could do without kisses if it meant John stayed by his side.

But apparently that fantasy was short-lived, for here John was not two days after his platonic declaration, dressed to impress, and it sure as hell wasn’t Sherlock he wanted to impress. Sherlock took a moment to suppress the disappointment before he addressed his friend.

“Someone new at the office, or did you meet her on a street corner?” Ouch. Not good. He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh.

John looked up from where he’d been adjusting his cuffs, brow furrowed. “What?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and waved vaguely in John’s direction. “New suit. Shined shoes. A cologne that isn’t quite as cheap as your usual. Actual product in your hair. I must say, you’ve stepped up your game since I last had a front-row seat to your adventures in dating.”

John heaved that sigh that said he was a martyr, and he was putting up with Sherlock for the greater good. Sherlock hated that sigh. He wasn’t forcing John to be there.

“Sherlock, I’m not– Did I not say two days ago that I was done dating? What is it you say about guessing ahead of the facts?”

“I don’t gu–”

“Yes you do, you git. And you’re not even using the full data at your disposal. What did I tell you this afternoon?”

“No experimenting until I get new gloves?”

“No– Well yes, and thanks for listening to that. But I meant about the party.”

Sherlock thought on it a moment, but he couldn’t remember anything about a party. It wasn’t John’s work party, which was next weekend, or the Met’s party, which was the Friday after that. It wasn’t their own do, which would be the 22nd.

John apparently read enough on Sherlock’s face to know he didn’t have an answer, because he sighed again, though this was the fond sigh with a hint of a smile that Sherlock much preferred. It said that he liked Sherlock’s little quirks and didn’t want him to change just to be like everyone else.

“The clinic’s holiday party got moved to tonight. There were too many conflicts next weekend.”

“Oh. Then why are you dressed so– um, nicely? Usually you make do with jeans and that awful brown jacket. You _are_ trying to impress someone at work, aren’t you? I knew it.” The band around Sherlock’s chest tightened even more.

“Not umm, not precisely, no. Just… I had to buy this suit for a thing with Mary a few months ago. Figured I might as well get some more wear out of it, since you’ve complained enough times about my jacket. I thought you might, umm, like it?” John looked away from Sherlock and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I do! I mean, it’s a cut above your usual. Very… nice. Yes.” _Very suave, Holmes._

John smiled at him, pleased, and Sherlock felt the tension in his chest relax. “Good. Good. So… what are you up to tonight?”

Thank goodness, they needed a subject change before Sherlock said something to embarrass himself. Like how gorgeous John looked in that suit. Like that he wanted to mess up that slightly coifed hair by running his fingers through it. Like–

“Oh, not much. Just catching up on some reading.” Now that he’d seen John, though, the journals held much less appeal than they’d done when he’d sat down. He almost wanted to go with John to the party. Not only to stave off anyone who (rightly) tried pull John after seeing him in his new duds, but just so Sherlock would have more of a chance to soak in John himself. He would even deal with tedious conversation with ditzy nurses just to stand by John’s side.

“Don’t sound so excited.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I can’t start my next experiment until I pick up those eyeballs tomorrow. Finished that case for Lestrade earlier today. Nothing interesting in the inbox. It was either journals or telly with Mrs. Hudson, and I cannot stand that singing show that’s on tonight. Worse, I can hear it through the floor. I’d almost rather put up with a crowd just to get out of the flat for a few hours.”

“Too bad that ‘almost’ isn’t a ‘definitely,’ or I could help you out,” John said, sounding slightly…nervous?

“Hmm?” Surely John didn’t mean…

“The party. I’ve got a crowd that would help you avoid the squawking from the downstairs telly. I know you don’t like holidays or parties or anyone I work with… but I’m— _it’s_ —there if you really want to get out.”

“Oh.” He did hate all of those things. It would probably be tedious and dull. But it was John… “Thank you. I suppose having you there would make it slightly less hateful.” Sherlock’s stomach flipped at the idea of standing next to John in his gorgeous suit all night. So tempting.

“Ta very much,” John replied with a smirk. “So… is that a yes?”

Sherlock pretended to consider the offer. “Do I get to deduce everyone?”

John narrowed his eyes. “Only to me.”

“Fine. And you have to come with me to Mycroft’s holiday do.”

“What?!? I’m the one helping you out tonight. Why do I have to owe you favor?”

“’Tis the season?” Sherlock tried.

John shook his head, but he was smiling. “Fine. If only so I don’t get a call from him the night of complaining that you insulted the Turkish ambassador’s wife.”

“She probably deserved it,” Sherlock replied as he went to put on his coat and scarf.

He heard the laughter in John’s voice as he said, “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because I said ‘danger.’”

John laughed. “Isn’t that the truth.” It wasn’t until he too had shrugged on his coat that he turned an accusing eye to Sherlock. “Mycroft’s party is a black-tie event!”

Sherlock smirked, thinking of how dapper John would look in a tux. “Don’t worry. We’ll stop by my favorite shop next week.”


	4. 4 December, Snowball Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snowy fun at a crime scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having written up half of these already, I'm noticing a pattern of commenting at the warm weather in this fic. I have no clue if December 2013 in London was unseasonably warm (and am far too lazy to look it up), but it's definitely that way in December 2017 Colorado. I guess my bitterness is bleeding into my story...

Greg rubbed his hands together. Despite the rather pleasant weather outside, he was freezing inside. How was he to know when he’d left the house that morning that he’d end up at a snow-covered crime scene? Some sort of special event where they hauled a load of man-made snow into an ice rink for special needs kids to come play in for the day, complete with a snowman contest, hot chocolate, and—

Thump!

“John!”

“Hehehehehe. Your face, Sherlock. Greg, did you see his face? Hehehehe.”

…and snowball fights.

“What are you, five?”

The two bickered as Greg shook his head and looked over his notes a final time. Luckily the murder hadn’t occurred until after the families had left for the day. He would’ve hated it if those poor kids had had their day of snow-filled fun marred by a grisly murder. Unfortunately for Greg, this was the third murder this week that had the victim dressed up like an elf, so he’d had to bring in Sherlock and John for help. And John, not being five, had at least waited until forensics and Sherlock had wrapped up before throwing a snowball at his friend.

Greg couldn’t begrudge the two a little fun, after how horrible the last two years had been for each of them. Sherlock may have left John alone to grieve, but that that didn’t mean Sherlock’s time away had been all daisies and puppies. He saw it in the tenseness of Sherlock’s posture, the way his eyes darted around any time he entered a new room—not deducing, but checking for exits and possible assailants—the way he looked at John, with more fear and love than he’d ever let show before.

Greg wasn’t sure what was going on between the two, but if a little goofiness at a crime scene loosened them up just a bit, it was worth a bit of mess. He looked up to see Sherlock barreling after John, ball of snow in hand, grin firmly in place. Yeah, definitely worth it.

Sherlock let loose the snowball. The throw wasn’t bad, but the ball fell to pieces before it even hit John.

“What was that? Haven’t you made a snowball before?” John taunted as he stopped to roll his own ball.

“No,” Sherlock replied quietly, smile melting from his face, shoulders stiffening.

John froze. “Oh. Yeah. Well, um…”

“John, school your genius mate on the art of snowball making. Donovan and I are coming for you!” Greg called before he could really think about it. He didn’t like seeing that lost look that came over his friend’s face whenever he realized he had obviously missed out on some childhood experience or another.

“What?!?” Sally looked over a Greg in horror.

“Afraid to lose, Donovan?” Greg teased.

Sally cast a calculating look over to where John and Sherlock were now huddled together as John explained some aspect of snowball construction. Sherlock nodded seriously, taking in John’s every word, but that gleam of happiness was back in his eyes.

“Nah, boss. We can take ‘em,” Sally returned with an evil grin. “You’re going down, Holmes!” she shouted as she started gathering her own snow.

Sherlock’s head snapped up in surprise, eyes wide. Things had been different between the two since Sherlock’s return—Sally was less biting, Sherlock less impatient. But they were _far_ from besties.

After a moment, Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, but he was smirking. “With John’s arm and my genius? I don’t think so, Donovan.” He stepped closer to John and started speaking quickly. John grinned up at him in delight.

“Come on, Lestrade. You’re falling behind!” Sally yelled. “I’m not doing this all by myself.”

Greg looked away from the couple that was not a couple and concentrated on figuring out how to beat them instead.


	5. 5 December, Decorating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are texts about fairy lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware! Another formatted chapter. Pretty small, so it should work on mobile *fingers crossed*, but you might want to read it on the computer, just in case.
> 
> P.S. I have never used an iPhone, so I'm not exactly sure how timestamping works (esp back in 2013). Don't shame me, please!

Sherlock  
  
**Yesterday** 20:42  
**John:** Not all of us can be as dashing as you. ;)  
20:42  
**Today** 14:21  
**Sherlock:** What did you do with the fairy lights? SH  
14:21  
**John:** Bit early to start decorating, innit?  
14:26  
**Sherlock:** Case. Need them now. SH  
14:26  
**John:** Alright. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Airing cupboard.  
14:26  
**John:** What exactly do you need them for? Did someone get strangled with them?  
14:27   
**John:** Oh God. Please tell me you’re not going to try to asphyxiate yourself with fairy lights.  
14:27  
**John:** Sherlock?  
14:29  
**John:** Please tell me you’re alive.  
14:31  
**John:** If you don’t answer in the next five minutes. I’m coming home.  
14:34  
**John:** Scratch that. I’m calling Mrs H right now.  
14:34  
**Sherlock:** Not enough! I need more. SH  
14:34  
**John:** Oh, thank God. What the HELL is going on, Sherlock?  
14:35  
**Sherlock:** Does Mrs H have fairy lights? Probably not enough. Where do you buy fairy lights? SH  
14:35  
**John:** I’m not telling you where to get them until you tell me what you’re doing with them. Remember that whole trying to keep you alive thing?  
14:36  
**Sherlock:** I’m fine. This case is barely a five. Mrs H said most shops will have them, due to the holiday season. SH  
14:41  
**John:** I don’t like this. I’m coming home.  
14:43  
**Sherlock:** Too tedious for you. Stay at work. You’ve got an influx of flu patients, and you’re worried about keeping your job. SH  
14:48  
**John:** Oh. Didn’t think you were listening. That’s thoughtful of you.  
14:56  
**Sherlock:** You pay attention to my job, so I should offer you the same courtesy. SH  
14:57  
**John:** I’m part of your job, Sherlock. I kind of have to pay attention if I don’t want to end up dead.  
14:57  
**Sherlock:** True… In any case, your job is important. I solve mysteries. You save lives. SH  
15:01  
**John:** You save plenty of lives.  
15:02  
**Sherlock:** Many more with you by my side. SH  
15:04  
**John:** That’s nice. The two of us against the rest of the world, eh?  
15:12  
**Sherlock:** Indeed. SH  
15:17  
**John:** Damn, patient. Gotta go. BE SAFE. I’m telling Mrs H to keep an eye on you.  
15:18  
**Today** 17:56  
**John:** Did you really need 18 boxes Sherlock?  
17:56  
**John:** I’m not untangling these I hope you know.  
17:56  
**John:** Where are you? Do you need my help?  
18:06  
**Sherlock:** Back in ten. Stopped for take away on the way back from NSY. I hope curry is okay? SH  
18:06  
**John:** Always. Thanks. :)  
18:08  
**Sherlock:** That film you like is on tonight. We could watch that while we eat. SH  
18:09  
**John:** I like a lot of films. Can you be more specific?  
18:09  
**Sherlock:** The Christmas one with Bing Crosby. SH  
18:09  
**John:** White Christmas? Brilliant. You’re on.  
18:10  
**Sherlock:** Almost home. Want to open that bottle of Merlot? SH  
18:11  
**John:** Already done. See you in a mo’.  
18:11  
**John:** I’m still not untangling these lights by the way.  
18:11  



	6. 6 December, Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Locked in a freezer, John and Sherlock have time to learn more about each other.

“You’ll love this one, you said. You’ll get free food, you said. It’s all Christmasy, you said. You failed to mention I’d be picking out my own food while stuck in a _walk-in freezer_!”

John rants—half to himself, seeing as Sherlock stopped paying attention to him five minutes ago—as he paces for warmth. John hopes Sherlock is working on a plan to get them out, but with John’s phone dead and Sherlock’s on the other side of the very thick, very locked freezer door, John’s not sure what they’ll do. Why don’t these things come with failsafes? Oh right, they do, but those failsafes don’t take into account having the door jammed by a suspect from the outside.

The case had been simple enough. The sous chef was stealing from the restaurant to bank his wife’s Christmas-themed pop-up restaurant. It was supposed to be just a quick in and out to find the evidence in the restaurant’s office, but the sous chef had surprised them—and been surprised by them—by showing up early. He’d recognized them immediately, managed to knock them both out, and dumped them in the freezer. John had awakened to Sherlock pounding on the door fifteen minutes ago.

Sherlock is quiet now, hunched in his coat, gloved fingers steepled in their usual thinking position, eyes closed.

It’s funny, but even though Sherlock woke him far too early this morning only for them to be locked in a freezer, there’s nowhere John would rather be. Even over a month after Sherlock’s return from the dead, John still marvels that the man is alive, and that he’s come back to John. He could have gone anywhere, done anything. Hell, he could’ve returned to London, reinstated himself at Baker Street, but still refused to let John move back in, but he hadn’t. When John had shown up after he broke things off with Mary, Sherlock had taken one look at him and said, cool as anything, “The room upstairs is still available, if you need it.”

Now it’s back to business as usual. And John will never again complain—too much—about the mad spots they seem to get themselves into. Because Sherlock is back, and John is by his side, and that’s all that matters.

Still, he’s freezing.

“Any ideas?” John asks, tucking his hands under his armpits for warmth as he nudges his friend over so they can share the box Sherlock is sitting on.

“Three, none of them good,” Sherlock replies. He looks at John a moment. “Where are your gloves and scarf?”

“It’s been unseasonably warm, and I didn’t know I was going to be locked in the freezer when we left the flat,” John says accusingly.

“You act like I knew–”

John sighs and shakes his head. “No, sorry. Just not handling the cold well.”

Before John can process it, his neck is ensconced in warm, blue scarf. Hints of Sherlock’s aftershave waft up from the fabric, and John feels so much warmer than the little bit of material should really allow. Since psychosomatic warmth is better than a psychosomatic limp, he allows himself to enjoy it rather than think too hard on the reason for it.

He’d had time to think while Sherlock was away, and he’d confronted his feelings for his friend some time ago. And now that they’ve basically pledged their lives to each other (platonically), he doesn’t have to worry about Sherlock leaving him again. He’s decided he’d be much happier keeping Sherlock in his life and at a friendly distance rather than trying to push romance on a man who has shunned those emotions in favor of keeping his mind sharp. Things like Sherlock sharing his scarf without asking are worth missing out on a little romance. Romance is fleeting anyway. What they have is better. Right?

“Uh, thanks,” John finally says after he’s had his fill of stealth scarf sniffing.

“Keep your hands in your armpits.”

“Yes, Sherlock. I _am_ a doctor,” John replies, knowing his voice is too fond. He doesn’t care. His right leg and arm are mashed against Sherlock’s left side, providing a bit of extra warmth. If he wasn’t freezing his arse off, this wouldn’t be so bad. He tries to think of something to keep his mind off the cold.

“You know, I don’t know the story of how you got started in detective work. Well, I know Carl Powers, but not how you got to know Lestrade or how you started your own business.”

Sherlock cranes his head to look at John, tiny wrinkle of confusion firmly in place between his brows. John doesn’t dwell on how adorable the look is.

“What?” Sherlock asks.

John shrugs. “Trying to pass the time until we get rescued. Need something to take my mind off of the bloody cold. When you were, well, you know, um, gone, I… I thought of a lot of things I wanted to know about you. I thought I’d never get any answers, but I’ve been given a second chance, so… what’s the story?” He shoves down his self-consciousness. Let Sherlock think him a bit odd. He’s not letting his chance go by just because he’s worried about what Sherlock thinks of him.

“You… want to know about my past?” Sherlock seems surprised by this. John hates that. Has he been such a bad friend to Sherlock?

“Of _course_ I do. You’re my best friend. I want to know _everything_ about you.”

John thinks he sees an extra hint of pink in Sherlock’s cold-reddened cheeks, and he feels an answering swoop in his stomach. He tamps down the hope.

“Oh,” Sherlock whispers. He clears his throat. “It wasn’t any one thing really. I’ve always been fascinated with puzzles. The Carl Powers case was my first real hint of it. I had several other events after that turned me on the path, but since you mentioned Lestrade…” He stops a moment, eyes crinkled in fond remembrance, but then he looks down in shame. “I was… high and bored, wandering around London one night.” His eyes dart quickly to John’s and then away.

John pulls his right hand away from the warmth of his body to comfort his friend. Sherlock’s knee is easier to reach than his shoulder, so he risks the move, despite how it could be perceived. Or maybe because of it. “It’s okay,” John reassures as he pats Sherlock’s knee. Sherlock’s wide eyes move back to John’s, and John offers a soft smile. He doesn’t move his hand away. “What happened?”

Sherlock swallows. “I stumbled onto one of Lestrade’s crime scenes. Not even sure how I got there. It was a murdered woman in a sauna in a block of flats, nowhere near mine or anyone else I knew.” He shrugs. “Truth be told, I don’t remember much about the case, but apparently I was coherent enough to explain it to Lestrade. He didn’t believe me, of course. But he gave me a chance to explain myself, since he was completely out of his depth. After the case, he wanted nothing to do with a junkie, of course, but I kept badgering him, trying to alleviate my own boredom. We finally came to an agreement: I get clean, he would let me work on some cold cases. Once I was clean for six months, he let me on a crime scene.”

Greg has never been a huge pushover, despite what some members of the Met claim, but the fact that the reason Sherlock got his act together was because of the DI gives John a new appreciation for the man. “I guess I owe him a few drinks then.”

Sherlock tilts his head. “Why?”

“For keeping you alive before I could take over the job,” John replies softly.

That earns him a smile that makes his heartbeat tick up. “He was the reason I was at Bart’s the day we met, so maybe we owe him a nice bottle of whiskey rather than just a few drinks.”

John laughs. Funny the way one event can be seen different ways. “You know, I’ve always attributed our meeting to Mike.”

Sherlock smiles. “I reckon we owe several people expensive bottles of liquor, if we think about it.”

“That’s Christmas presents wrapped up then, innit? Easy enough.” It’s nice, sharing these little bits they’ve never talked about before. That’s one good thing to come out of two years of awful.

“Yeah.”

They shamelessly grin at each other for a few moments, and John knows Sherlock is enjoying this closeness as much as he is. He hopes it becomes a regular part of their lives, now that they’re each ready to be a bit more open with the other.

A pounding pulls their gazes away from each other and to the freezer door. They see Greg’s face through the door window, and they hear him faintly call that they’ll get the door unjammed in a few moments. As one, John and Sherlock stand, happy to have had the moment, but ready to get back to business.

John’s palm, where it had rested on Sherlock’s knee, is warm.


	7. 7 December, Christmas Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Christmas gifts are sent. Sherlock is only slightly an arse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another formatted chapter. Best viewed on a computer.

  
Mike,  
Hope the lead up to the holiday season is going well for you. Sorry I haven’t been in touch lately. Sherlock’s been keeping me on my toes since his return. We’ve had some good cases, though, so we’re not complaining.

Anyway, along with holiday greetings, we wanted to thank you for introducing us all those years ago. We’ve both been the better off for it.

We hope you and Ana like the wine. Sherlock says it’s the best.

Happy Christmas,  
John and  Sherlock  


 

  
Molly,  
I cannot express enough my deepest thanks for all you did for me. You not only helped me perform an insane feat, but you kept my secret against the wishes of your conscience. Without you, I would not have been able to return ~~to Jo~~ home safely.

This watch is not enough to give you in thanks, but I hope it’s a start.

Merry Christmas,  
Sherlock and  John

P.S. ~~When~~ If things don’t work out with what’s his name, the new DI in Lestrade’s department seems interested and is much better suited.  


 

  
Greg,  
First off, thanks for the rescue from the freezer. Another 10 minutes, and we’d’ve been ice lollies! But more than that, thanks for everything, mate. We’d be a couple of extremely bored blokes without you to keep us running around the city.

Thanks for giving Sherlock his first case, and for keeping him alive ~~for me~~ for the next few years. Thanks for letting an invalided army doctor on your crime scene, no questions asked. Thanks for trusting us and for watching our backs. Thanks for being the calm in the storm. Thanks for being a friend to us two weirdos. 

We hope the Scotch is to your liking and that it conveys even a quarter of our appreciation.

Happy Christmas,  
John and  Sherlock  


 

  
Mrs Hudson,  
Seven years ago, you took a chance on the mad Londoner who showed up on your doorstep in Florida. Four years ago, you let that same madman and his ~~bitter~~ world-weary army doctor move in above you and create massive amounts of chaos. One month ago, you welcomed them both back with open arms.

More than a roof over our heads, you’ve given us a home—clean, warm, and with far too many pastries. We don’t deserve you, but we’re happy to have you, all the same.

Enjoy your trip to Majorca. Hope your hip appreciates the warmth and your ears the quiet.

All our love,  
Sherlock and  John  


 

  
Bill,  
Can you believe I’ve been back in London for 4 years? Seems like just yesterday we were shooting the shit in some stifling tent, cleaning sand out of far too many places.

It’s because of you that I made it back at all. I never properly thanked you for that, so I thought I’d make up for it this Christmas. I remember this being your favourite gin. I hope that’s still the case.

We should try to get together sometime next year. It’s been far too long. My fault, I know. I think I can even talk Sherlock into coming, if you want his autograph and don’t mind your whole history being deduced!

Happy Christmas,  
John

Bill, my deepest thanks. - Sherlock Holmes  


 

  
Mycroft,  
Thanks  
Sherlock and John

P.S. I'm sure you know what your git of a brother actually means, but just in case you don't. We appreciate all you've done for us over the years. Happy Christmas.  



	8. 8 December, Warming Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard being a landlady to Sherlock. Good thing Mrs Hudson is not easily ruffled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* Not particularly happy with this one, but oh well.

Ring. Ring.

“Hello, Green’s Repair, Lily Green speaking.”

“Yes, this is Martha Hudson–”

Click.

“Rude.”

Ring. Ring.

“Where do you, a service industry provider, get off hanging up on me, a loyal customer? I should report you.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hudson. It’s just– do you still have that same tenant? The Holmes fellow? I heard he was back.”

“Why yes! He did recently return, poor dear. Quite an ordeal, from what I–”

“Again, I’m sorry, but I can’t work with that man glowering over my shoulder like an outsized bat. No, _that_ I could take. It’s the constant taunts about not being able to do my job and the way that he pushes his way in to fix whatever _I’m_ meant to be fixing. I went to trade school. I know what I’m doing!”

“I’m sure you do, dear. He’s just… very set in his ways. And he is a genius, you know, so I’m sure a little electrical wiring isn’t too difficult for him to figure out. I’m sure he’s just trying to help.”

“His helping gets in the way of me doing my job.”

“I do apologize. If I promise to keep him out of the house while you work, will you please come and fix the furnace? It’s on the fritz, and we’re boiling over here. You’re the best at what you do. I’m sure it’ll be the work of a moment for you to pop over and fix it.”

Sigh. “Fine. Have him out of the house by 10am tomorrow. I’ll be there at 10:30.”

“Oh, wonderful! Thank you, Ms. Green. I’ll have the house cleared by 9:30.”

“Yes, yes. Fine. See you tomorrow, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Toodooloo, Ms. Green.”

* * *

Footsteps pounding up the stairs. Murmurs.

“No. Out. _Now_. I was promised an empty house.”

Mumbling.

“Fine, but the minute you get shirty, I’m leaving.”

Silence.

Low murmuring.

“Sherlock, stop harassing the poor woman. Just find the damned paperwork and let’s get out of her way. Apologies, ma’am. My friend is an arsehole.”

“You know, if you just–”

“Shut it, Sherlock!”

“But if–”

“Sherlock!”

“Fine.”

Murmur.

“What is _wrong_ with you?”

“I’m just trying to hel–”

“No, you’re being a rude know-it-all arsehole, and you’re getting in my way. You know what? I quit. I’ve got enough work to buy my kids their Christmas lists three times over. I don’t have to put up with you.”

Feet pounding down the stairs.

“This is not going to work, Mrs. Hudson. Until that man is gone for good, I can’t do any further work for you. Good day.”

Door slam.

“Well, that’s not likely to happen any time soon…”


	9. 9 December, Ghosts of Christmas Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John learns about Sherlock's scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a bit of a liberty with this one. More about ghosts of the past, rather than anything to do with Christmas. Apologies, but it worked better for what I wanted to say here.

Not everything during the holidays is merry and bright, gentle reader. I’m afraid we are often faced with great pain during the winter season. I don’t mean that we necessarily have more pain during the holidays (though, for a season that celebrates family and commercialism in equal turns, it is far harder for some souls), but the pain is more pronounced when adjacent to the fuzzy feelings that the season supposedly bring about.

In the case of our Sherlock and John, who is to say whether the pain they are dealing with now could have been lessened if it had occurred, say, in spring or fall—seasons more prone to reflection and introspection.

Regardless, I must show the bad with the good, so let us peak in on our friends on a day that is not so filled with holiday joy.

Sherlock stares into the wardrobe, seeming to be lost in thought while changing into his clothes for the day. He’s so lost in his own mind that he fails to notice the soft footsteps coming from the corridor. A gasp from John has him whipping around. It’s too late, John has seen the scars, but he still hastily yanks a shirt from its hanger and pulls it on.

Sherlock clears his throat. “Almost ready. Lestrade will meet us there.” He avoids John’s face, busying himself with his shirt cuffs. He has avoided sharing with John all that occurred while he was away. He wants to spare his friend the horrors.

John’s face—if Sherlock managed to look—is a mix of pain, sadness, and protectiveness. He leans on the bedroom doorframe and waits for his friend to look at him. Sherlock, unable to stifle his curiosity any longer, finally faces John stoically.

“Oh,” he breathes, seeing John’s expression—the brows furrowed in concern, a frown of pain rather than disgust bracketing his mouth.

“I’m sorry you had to do it alone,” John replies. “Was it– How–.” He stops, shakes his head. “I’m here, if you want to talk.”

They still have so much to navigate.

“Not today. There’s too much– It’s not a story to be told lightly. But yes. Soon, we’ll talk about it.”

“I wish I could’ve been there for you.” John offers softly.

Sherlock offers a tremulous smile in return. His bottom lip wavers at the end. “Me too.”

“Can I–” John hesitates. His voice is small. “I know it’s not our usual, uh, thing, and probably a bit selfish on my part, because I feel like shit, but… can I give you a hug?”

Sherlock huffs out a breath, and it almost seems relieved. “Yes.”

Oh, dear reader. How glad I am when these two can put their love above their pain. Perhaps this is better off for happening during the holidays after all.

Sherlock takes a step forward and stops. John fidgets with the cuff of his jumper a moment, then nods. His steps are slow and even, as if he fears scaring his friend off. He stops one step away. After a beat, his hand raises to Sherlock’s shoulder and pulls Sherlock in the final distance. His other arm wraps around his friend’s waist.

Sherlock is frozen for a moment, even with the advanced warning, but then he melts. His cheek rests on top of John’s head, his arms sneak around John’s back. The room is quiet apart from the muffled sounds of traffic out the window.

They breathe each other in and take a few moments to accept what they cannot change. They vow to make things better from here on out.


	10. 10 December, Food and Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock fight over what's for dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another texting chapter, so beware the formatting. Should work okay on mobile though.

John  
  
**Yesterday** 13:21  
**Sherlock:** Meet me around the corner. SH  
13:21  
**Today** 15:22  
**John:** In the mood for Chinese tonight. What do you want?  
15:22  
**Sherlock:** Boring. SH  
15:42  
**John:** Then what do YOU want Mr Picky?  
15:59  
**Sherlock:** It doesn’t matter. SH  
16:00  
**John:** No. No.  
16:00  
**John:** If you say my pick is boring, then you have to choose.  
16:00  
**Sherlock:** That’s an asinine rule, John. SH  
16:01  
**John:** No it isn’t. I offered, you rejected, now you offer.  
16:02  
**John:** If you want to take back your “boring” I’ll gladly bring Chinese home.  
16:02  
**Sherlock:** Pizza. SH  
16:18  
**John:** You want pizza? You never suggest pizza.  
16:32  
**Sherlock:** It’s a rare thing, but I do like it sometimes. SH  
16:41  
**John:** Ok. Pizza it is. Call it in? I’ll pick it up. Just tell me when and where.  
16:54  
**John:** And no anchovies.  
16:55  
**Sherlock:** What do you take me for? SH  
16:57  
**John:** I’m not going to answer that.  
17:00  
**John:** Finished in 20. Where am I picking up dinner?  
17:34  
**Sherlock:** Why does every single shop insist on playing Christmas music on endless loop for 40 days? If I worked in the service industry, I’d want to kill myself. SH  
17:41  
**John:** I’m pretty sure no holiday music is required for you to want to kill yourself while working in a shop. Boredom would take care of that pretty quick.  
17:43  
**John:** Almost done. Where am I picking up dinner? ANSWER ME YOU GIT.  
17:43  
**Sherlock:** True… SH  
17:43  
**Sherlock:** Calm down. I’m having it sent over. SH  
17:44  
**John:** Could’ve told me that ages ago. You’re an arse.  
17:45  
**John:** What are you doing in a shop?  
17:46  
**Sherlock:** Didn’t have a wine that paired with the pizza. SH  
17:48  
**John:** Seriously?  
17:49  
**Sherlock:** John. SH  
17:50  
**John:** Of course you’re serious. God I love living with you.  
17:51  
**Sherlock:** Really? SH  
17:52  
**John:** Do we need to have the conversation again where I explain that I moved out of my almost-fiancée’s flat and back to Baker St? I wouldn’t do that if I hated living with you. You’re a pain sometimes. Not denying that. Your cleaning is a bit lacking and sometimes I want to punch you when you’re in a mood. But the good outweighs the bad. Easily.  
17:55  
**Sherlock:** Thank you, John. SH  
17:57  
**Sherlock:** The same. For me. SH  
17:58  
**John:** Good.  
18:01  
**John:** So what wine did you pick?  
18:02  
**Sherlock:** Riesling. SH  
18:03  
**John:** Why?  
18:03  
**Sherlock:** It goes well with pineapple. SH  
18:03  
**John:** What does pineapple have to do with anything?  
18:04  
**John:** No. You did NOT order our pizza with pineapple.  
18:04  
**John:** I take it back. There are some things I can’t handle. I’ll be moved out by midnight. :P  
18:04  
**Sherlock:** Hush, you. I have superior taste buds. I did not order some cliched “Hawaiian” pizza. I picked ingredients that actually pair well together. This will be the best pizza you’ve ever had. SH  
18:05  
**John:** Sure sure. And if not, I get that whole bottle of Riesling to myself in consolation.  
18:06  
**John:** We should go look at lights sometime.  
18:07  
**Sherlock:** Care to explain that non-sequitur? SH  
18:08  
**John:** Just passed by some nice Christmas set ups. Made me nostalgic. Mum used to take me and Harry out to go and look at Christmas lights. We’d get hot cocoa, Harry and I would sing off-key carols. I thought it was aces back then. Haven’t done it since I was probably 12.   
18:08  
**John:** Ignore me. Feeling a bit maudlin today. I know Christmas isn’t really your thing.  
18:09  
**Sherlock:** It’s fine. We should do. I’ll scout out the best ones. SH  
18:10  
**John:** Really? Ok. Great.   
18:10  
**John:** Thanks Sherlock.:)   
18:11  
**John:** Almost home. Better have the pizza and wine ready.  
18:12  
**Sherlock:** Ready when you are, John. SH  
18:12  



	11. 11 December, Violin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music soothes the soul

As it had for the last two weeks or so, the sound of a violin woke John. It wasn’t terribly early, and the music was beautiful, so he didn’t mind. He was still just happy to hear Sherlock do anything these days. John didn’t recognize the song, other than being the same one to wake him each morning. He thought it was one of Sherlock’s own. John hadn’t witnessed such obsessive levels of composing since the whole Irene debacle years ago. As always when Sherlock tried, it was gorgeous. Soft, sweet, and slightly hesitant, it conveyed the idea that the “narrator” was unsure but hopeful. Much better than the woeful sounds Sherlock had been coaxing from the violin when the whole Moriarty thing went down.

He let the sounds serenade him as he got dressed. There were definitely worse ways to start the day. He wanted to record it on his phone so he could listen to it after he was ten patients in and annoyed with the world. In truth, if he could bottle up the essence of Sherlock and carry it around with him, he’d be happy man.

“That’s lovely,” John remarked as he stepped into the room. Sherlock had finished playing only moments ago, as if he really had been serenading John as he got ready for the day. “I know how the person feels.” It was a calculated risk. John knew Sherlock’s compositions always reflected his thoughts and feelings, and he had a good…not precisely idea, more like a hope that he knew what was causing Sherlock to act out through music now.

They’d been dancing around each other pretty much since Sherlock’s return, but especially since John had let Sherlock know that he was in this for the long haul. Though he had reassured Sherlock that he meant it platonically, he had noticed the way Sherlock had watched him since that conversation, and at this point John was…again he didn’t know if it was actual certainty or just a strong hope that had him reading more into things than were there. In any case, there was a _something_ there that colored their every interaction. And the music was a good indicator that he wasn’t just reading too much into it.

Sherlock watched John as he crossed the room into the kitchen to forage for breakfast, bow and violin still in his hands. “I don’t know what you’re mean,” Sherlock finally replied. He was turned to look out the window when John looked up from toast making.

John smirked. Sherlock did love to play coy, especially where his own feelings were concerned. “Songs,” John explained as he rooted through the refrigerator for jam. “They’re always about a person or event, yeah? They tell a story. Well the story I’m hearing here is someone who is hopeful for something to happen, but he’s afraid to set the events in motion.” John shrugged as he slathered jam over the toast. “I know the feeling.”

“Do you?”

“We’ve all been there. We worry that we’re making bad choices because we’re too close to the situation or because we’re reading things wrong.”

“I don’t read things wrong.” Sherlock’s voice was simultaneously offended and uncertain.

John smothered a grin. Sherlock was welcome to hide as long as he pleased. John would be waiting when he was ready. “Well, us mere mortals aren’t so lucky. We have to bumble through life blindly. Uncertainty abounds.” He sat a plate of toast on the desk for Sherlock, then sat down to enjoy his own. He’d let Sherlock stew on that for a while. “Now, how about a new narrative?”

Sherlock’s head whipped around. “What?”

John allowed himself a moment to enjoy throwing Sherlock off balance, but, since it was almost Christmas, he only gave it a moment. “‘In the Bleak Midwinter,’ if ‘you don’t mind?” he requested.

Shoulders dropped as Sherlock relaxed. Then he smirked. “The weather not cooperating with your need for a white Christmas?”

“Hell, I don’t care so much about that. But it is far too warm for December. This is just unnatural.”

Sherlock hummed in agreement as he raised his bow and violin. Soon the sweet strains of the winter hymn filled the flat. John let the notes caress his ears and steel him for the likely long day at the clinic.

He loved the exciting and dangerous work he did with Sherlock—wanted to keep at it as long as he could—but there was no denying that these quiet moments were just as lovely, just as necessary to their life. So he took a moment to enjoy it before moving to clean up his breakfast dishes and finish getting ready for the day.

He left the flat with a smile on his face to the beginning notes of “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming.”


	12. 12 December, Happy Hanukkah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John posts a new case on his blog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Formatted chapter. You know the drill.

THE PERSONAL BLOG OF   
Dr. John H. Watson

12 December

Happy Challah Days

Yeah, I know, Hanukah ended a week ago. Been a bit busy with cases and flu season. Along with late Hanukah wishes to those who celebrate, I have a story to tell.

We had a late-night visitor on the night after Hanukah ended, a rabbi who had noticed some strange goings on at his temple. Sherlock, of course, wanted to turn the man away, but I managed to talk him into taking the case. It was a simple one, but given the holiday season, I thought it was rude to not take it. Plus, we’d just finished another rather frustrating case and Sherlock was getting that glint in his eye that meant something untoward was about to happen to some part of the flat.

Sherlock, genius that he is, could’ve solved it without leaving the flat, but he needed to see some paperwork to prove it, so the rabbi took us back to the temple offices. After a few minutes, I heard a noise and went out to investigate. Next thing I know, I’m down on the floor with a crazed man holding a knife coming straight at me, and myself with nothing to deflect it. All of a sudden, Sherlock’s there fending off the knife-wielding crazy person with a MENORAH. (Note: I hope no one is offended by this. These were dire circumstances, and Sherlock and I were both unarmed. Please don’t use a Menorah as a weapon except as a last resort.) 

Not much to tell after that. Sherlock and I overpowered the man, managed to get a confession and the necessary evidence, called the Met in, and then we were done. Like I said, not a terribly exciting case, but I thought Sherlock as a Menorah-wielding knight made for a good holiday story. Plus, I’ve not posted a case since Sherlock’s triumphant return. I’ve got more stories to tell, but need more time to write them out. 

Until then, we hope your holidays are lovely and that you don’t need to fight off any madmen (or women) with religious artefacts.

**13 Comments**

* * *

Wow! You talked Sherlock into something? He must really be sweet on you!  
 **Harry Watson** 12 December

* * *

Really, John? A “Menorah-wielding knight” am I? I believe your writing has become even more romantic of late. And as I’ve noted before, I’m not a hero.  
 **Sherlock Homes** 12 December

* * *

You save lives Sherlock. You’re a hero. And even if you’d never saved a life before, your choice in job automatically makes you one. You’re amazing. I’m glad I get to be a part of it.  
 **John Watson** 12 December

* * *

What’s the big deal Harry? We’re friends. Of course Sherlock listens to me. Unless the rubbish needs to be taken out. Speaking of… Rota says it’s your turn Sherlock. Before it smells, if you don’t mind.  
 **John Watson** 12 December

* * *

Thank you, John. I’m glad you’re a part of it as well. Also, how often do I have to tell you to observe? I took it out this morning. Rota also says your turn to cook.  
 **Sherlock Homes** 12 December

* * *

Oh. Thanks! :) Spag bol tonight?  
 **John Watson** 12 December

* * *

Perfect.  
 **Sherlock Homes** 12 December

* * *

Oh dear. You two always get caught up in the most dangerous things. Perhaps Father Christmas will put some mace in your stockings.   
**Mrs Hudson** 12 December

* * *

How exciting! Good job Sherlock. :)  
 **Donna Staveley** 12 December

* * *

Ok, 2 things: 1) You two are in the same room, aren’t you? 2) Can we say MARRIED?  
 **Harry Watson** 12 December

* * *

Plenty of flatmates have rotas sister dear.  
 **John Watson** 12 December

* * *

John is up in his room, hiding for some reason.  
 **Sherlock Homes** 12 December

* * *

Glad you two have settled back into crime solving. The world would be lost without you!  
 **Jacob Sowersby** 13 December


	13. 13 December, In Front of the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Mrs. Hudson chat in front of the fire.

Martha hears slow, even steps going up the stairs. That would be John, then, returning from work, the poor dear. He’s been run ragged between the clinic and Sherlock. Not that he seems to mind. Indeed, he seems far happier than he had when he’d come to tell her that he was going to propose to his girlfriend. The man had acted like it was a chore instead of a happy announcement. He’s much better off without the woman, Martha thinks yet again. Thank God Sherlock returned when he did. And now her boys are back where they belong. Life has almost returned to normal at Baker Street, though with some changes (for the better).

Tea tray prepared, Martha makes the trek up the stairs. She’d started a fire earlier—cold weather had finally arrived that morning—so the lounge of 221B is toasty when she arrives. John shoos her away from the tray and pours the tea himself. He’s been ever so thoughtful since his return home. Both men have, in fact, both to Martha and each other. It’s been a lovely start to the Christmas season.

They talk about Martha’s Christmas gift from the boys—a trip to Majorca, she can’t wait—and the season in general. John asks for her help making gingernuts for Sherlock and then promises to help her decorate the house. Martha makes a mental note to scrub down 221B soon so that flat doesn’t look like a dump when the boys have their holiday party.

John pours more tea, and Martha notices again how happy he looks. Happy and content. She tells him so.

John shrugs it off. “It’s the holidays, I’m back home, Sherlock hasn’t put any heads in the refrigerator. I’ve got plenty to be happy about.”

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?” she counters. She still hasn’t given up on getting these two idiots to see reason. “You were ready to propose to Mary, so you would’ve had a home and a family with her. But you weren’t happy at the prospect. This is to do with Sherlock specifically.”

John opens his mouth to argue, then his face goes soft. “He’s different now. I mean, he’s still the same Sherlock we know and love—thank God—but he’s… settled. He talks more. Things are… good between us.” His eyes have those happy crinkles that have been appearing more often of late.

“And you’re hoping for even more, aren’t you?” she nudges. They won’t get anywhere if they don’t say things out loud.

With a glance at the door, John nods. “Yeah,” he says softly. “It’s hard to explain. I would be perfectly happy remaining his best friend for the rest of my life—us going on silly adventures and laughing over stupid things. But at the same time, I know we could be even better as…” His mouth works soundlessly, not ready to put voice to his hopes quite yet.

Well, that won’t do.

“A couple,” she finishes for him.

“Yeah,” he agrees, looking down at his cup. There’s a slight blush to his cheeks, and a smile plays at his lips. “I just… don’t know if that’s what Sherlock wants, you know? He’s so hard to read. If he would give me just one clear sign, I’d go for it in an instant.”

“I can put mistletoe up all over, if that would help,” Martha offers cheekily.

John laughs. “Just my luck, himself would ask why there were poisonous plants hanging from the rafters.”

Martha pish poshes the idea with a hand wave. “He’s not as clueless of social tradition as he lets on. He’s just…”

“Not up for dealing with the tedious,” John finishes for her, and Martha nods her head in agreement.

Enough of this romantic talk. She has a poker game to get to. “Well,” she says, standing up, “let me know if I can be of any help. Until then, I’m off with the girls. Betsy’s hosting this week, and I’m sure she’ll have that terrible fruitcake. I should find some nibbles to take with me.”

Waving away John’s offer to take the tray to her flat for her, Martha makes her way down the stairs, shaking her head at how stubborn those boys can be. Oh well. They’re her boys, and they’ll find their way eventually. She’s just glad she’ll have a front row seat when they do.


	14. 14 December, Elf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly has a secret gift giver and a new friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jumping away from the boys today to see what Molly's been up to. This can be read as friendship or pre-slash, whichever is your fancy.

Molly placed the latest gift back on her desk before getting back to work. It had been a daily occurrence since the 1st of December. She would come into her office each morning to find a little gift had mysteriously appeared on her desk. Nothing fancy. A chocolate bar, a classic novel she’d been meaning to read for ages; one day it was just a printed out joke that had her in stitches.

But today. Today it was a gorgeous knitted hat, pale green and made from the softest yarn she’d ever felt. Every time she’d entered her office that day, she’d taken a moment to run her hands over the smooth fabric. She was glad it had finally cooled down enough that she could wear it on the walk home without looking silly. She would’ve worn it even if it was 40 degrees out, though, because she loved it. It reminded her of the knitted accessories her dad had made for her when she was a kid—scarves, mittens, and of course, hats.

She hadn’t thought about her dad’s knitting in ages until a couple of weeks ago, when a DI and she had got on the subject while waiting for a test to finish up. Molly didn’t usually talk about her dad to other people. He had only been gone a few years, and sometimes the memories still hurt. But this woman—Stella, new to the Met—was just so easy to talk to that it was natural to let the memory of those warm gifts from her father just spill out.

Friends weren’t easy for Molly. She had always been quiet and private. Most of them were like her, odd and serious. Well, then there was Sherlock, but that had never been a traditional friendship. Still, he was also odd. Stella, though, was… cool. She was very cool. Smart, an amazing dresser, and she knew so much about so many things. Chatty. Nothing at all like Molly. Usually someone like that would intimidate her, but Stella didn’t. She was open and friendly with Molly, not to mention extremely funny. Not many people got Molly’s rather morbid sense of humor, but when she had made a dark joke the first time Stella had been to the morgue, the woman had laughed like she’d never heard anything funnier.

It was nice, having this new… acquaintance? friend? to talk to, especially during the holidays, when it was made most obvious how few loved ones some people had to celebrate with. And now it seemed Molly had not only the DI, but this mysterious elf/gift giver who thought she was worth paying attention to. It seemed fortuitous to have both happen at once, and the part of Molly that had been taken in by Moriarty wanted to question it, to not believe it, but she was different now. She wasn’t so starved for attention. She was happy with where she was in life.

Okay, yes, she had just broken things off with Tom—lovely man, but not who she needed—but she wasn’t sad about that. She had never been comfortable with Tom. He was always so eager to please and be what she wanted him to be, that she felt she never really got to know the real him. And seeing Sherlock and John, and the way they were so comfortable with each other, even just as friends, made Molly realize that’s what she wanted—no, what she _deserved_ —in her own life.

This elf seemed to think she deserved nice things too, going by the quality of the hat. She wondered if it was hand knit or something bought in a shop. Her money was on the former, given that there were no tags on it. The next question was if the elf knit it themself or if they bought it from a yarn shop. Either was quite flattering, given the price a hand-knit item usually went for. Still, a part of her hoped the elf knit it themself. That they had thought of Molly as they picked out the pattern and matched it with the perfect yarn. That they had taken hours out of their free time to create the hat.

That got her thinking. Did she know any knitters? That would certainly narrow the list of suspects. She felt a bit like Sherlock or Stella, trying to deduce her elf.

Molly was remembering her dad’s knitting during lunch when she recalled her conversation about it with Stella. The DI had mentioned having learned knitting from her aunt when she was a girl. She’d said she didn’t knit much anymore, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t. Could her new friend and her elf be the same person?

For just a moment, the idea saddened Molly, that she might not have two new friends after all. But the thought passed quickly. If Stella was her elf, then she really was Molly’s friend, wasn’t she? Molly wasn’t greedy. She didn’t need two new friends. And Stella was quite fantastic.

The longer she thought about it, the more right it felt that Stella was Molly’s elf. They discovered a shared humor, and then Molly had received that joke as one of her gifts. Molly had mentioned her favorite chocolate bar to the DI, and then received that same sweet a few days later. She recalled Stella complimenting a pale green shirt Molly had worn one day, and that shirt matched her new hat almost exactly.

Work tore her away from her contemplation, but it stayed at the back of her mind the rest of the day. As she walked home that evening, protected from the biting cold by her new hat, she thought on what she should get Stella in return. The DI had mentioned her love of animals. Perhaps tickets to the zoo? Though that seemed too small. But she was new to London. Perhaps she’d like it if Molly went with her? Then Molly could buy her dinner after. Oh! And she could buy her some yarn as well. Yes, that sounded lovely.

Mind made up, Molly walked the rest of the way home with good holiday cheer, warm in her new hat and happy in her thoughts of her new friend. It was going to be a lovely Christmas.


	15. 15 December, Seasonal Illness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flu comes to Baker Street

Sherlock has seen John eyeing him all day, and he knows why. He’s been trying so hard to hide it, but John can be annoyingly observant at exactly the wrong times. Sherlock knows he’s been acting odd (odder than usual for him, that is) lately, but it’s hard to hide something like this. But they have a case to solve, and Sherlock needs all of his faculties focused on that.

He manages it for most of the day, but when things get really exciting midafternoon, Sherlock slips up.

“Chooo!” Stifling it hadn’t worked this time—his brain is buzzing with ideas, and he’s not paying attention to his transport. John is on him in a flash.

“I knew it! You’re ill. Have been all day and hiding it. I told you to get a flu jab.” John pulls a travel pack of tissues out of his coat pocket, hands one to Sherlock, and puts a hand to Sherlock’s forehead. It’s gloriously cool against Sherlock’s heated skin, and so lovely because it’s John’s hand on Sherlock, and _nothing_ is better than that. “As I thought. Fever.”

“Your hands are cold. You can’t get an accurate reading,” Sherlock tries, but John has that stubborn look in his eyes. Sherlock hasn’t a chance of winning this. But there’s still a case to solve. He can’t let John send him home now.

“You’re sweating, Sherlock. And,” he moves his hands to Sherlock’s neck, “your lymph nodes are swollen. Your eyes are watering, and you’ve just sneezed. You’ve got the flu.” He looks fondly exasperated, a soft smile playing at his lips. He forgets and leaves his hands on Sherlock’s neck as he clocks Sherlock’s symptoms. Perhaps getting sick is worth it, to have John paying him so much attention. Of course, John has already been paying him more attention than usual. Well, more than he had before Sherlock left him. Since his return, things have been… different.

It’s been amazing, seeing this softer side of John. The side that’s exasperated but happy, the side that doesn’t get onto Sherlock every time he does something that a “normal” person wouldn’t do. But Sherlock doesn’t need that side now. He needs to solve this case.

He regretfully steps out of the warm cocoon they’ve made so that he can think properly. He’s almost got it. He just needs a bit more time.

John looks at his hands in surprise as they fall from Sherlock’s neck, like he’s only just realized how long he’d kept them on his friend. After a few moments, his face morphs back to concerned doctor as he looks up at Sherlock. Sherlock wants to fidget the longer John looks, but he holds himself still. He gazes pleadingly at his friend in return. John crosses his arms, then sighs.

“One hour, then I’m putting you to bed,” he proclaims.

Donovan walks up in time to hear that. She raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything. She and Sherlock have come to an understanding. He knows she regrets her part in Sherlock’s “suicide.” She had even been adult enough to admit it herself the first time they interacted after his return. Sherlock, also changed, had accepted her apology and admitted his own culpability in their difficult relationship. They weren’t friends, but they were no longer enemies either. It was enough. Just because Sherlock had finally allowed himself to feel didn’t mean he needed to be _besties_ with everyone. So when Donovan eyes them at John’s pronouncement, he doesn’t feel his heckles rise.

And instead of teasing or mocking, Donovan keeps it professional. “What you got, Holmes?” getting straight to business. Lestrade’s let her take lead on this case. Sherlock estimates another year before she’s promoted to DI. She deserves it.

“The flu,” John cuts in, “so he’s going to make it snappy and then go home to rest.” John’s got that little wrinkle in his brow that says he’ll brook no arguments.

Sherlock rolls his eyes, then begins explaining his theory to Donovan. Now that he doesn’t have to hide, he sneezes four more times in the next few minutes, John always nearby with a tissue and looking doctorly.

Sherlock pulls the final pieces together with seven minutes to spare, and John bundles them into a cab soon after. Sherlock manages to fall asleep on the ride home, and next thing he knows, John is gently shaking his shoulder to wake him. They climb up to 221B in a haze. Now that Sherlock doesn’t have a case to focus on, his body decides to shut down. He’s pajamaed and in bed before he knows what’s happening. Every muscle aches, and he’s shivering like he’s just jumped into the Thames.

John’s quiet voice and soothing hands help push Sherlock into a doze minutes after he’s under the covers. Despite the illness, he feels happy, loved.

Yes, being unwell has its benefits.


	16. 16 December, Christmas Telly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets bored while in bed with the flu. John offers a suggestion. Baffled texting ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another text-formatted chapter.

Sherlock  
  
**Yesterday** 23:38  
**Sherlock:** Throat hurts. Need more tea. SH  
23:38  
**John:** Be there in a mo'. Chamomile only. Too late for caffeine.  
23:38  
**Today** 09:23  
**Sherlock:** It hurts all over. SH  
09:23  
**Sherlock:** I get cold and pull up the covers. Then I get hot and must take them off again. Tedious. SH  
09:25  
**Sherlock:** I’ve sneezed twenty-three times since I woke up. My nose is worse than our leaky tap. SH  
09:26  
**Sherlock:** Why haven’t we cured the flu yet? This is absurd. SH  
09:27  
**Sherlock:** My throat hurts. I need tea. SH  
09:28  
**John:** You do realize I’m at work, right?  
09:29  
**John:** I’ve called Mrs H. She’ll be up in a bit with some tea. I’ve left meds and a glass of water on your bedside table.  
09:29  
**Sherlock:** Already taken them. SH  
09:30  
**John:** Good boy.  
09:31  
**Sherlock:** I’m not a dog, John. SH  
09:31  
**John:** I’m well aware of that. A dog would listen when I told him to get a flu jab.  
09:31  
**Sherlock:** You’re preposterous. SH  
09:32  
**John:** You like it. ;)  
09:35  
**John:** Patient incoming. GTG. Drink the rest of your water and your tea when it arrives. Get some rest. I’ll check on you later.  
09:35  
**Toay** 10:58  
**John:** Doing okay? Need anything?  
10:58  
**Today** 11:30  
**John:** Hopefully you’re sleeping.  
11:30  
**Today** 12:22  
**Sherlock:** If I have to lay in this bed for much longer, I’ll go mad. SH  
12:22  
**John:** Go and lay on the sofa then. Watch some bad telly. That’s what sick days are for.  
12:24  
**Sherlock:** Yes, doctor. SH  
12:25  
**Sherlock:** This woman is trying to get home for Christmas and the world is conspiring against her. What is this tripe? SH  
12:37  
**John:** Welcome to the world of made for television Christmas movies. Each channel will show 100 a day from here til Christmas.  
12:37  
**Sherlock:** Oh, and this one is worse. This woman is a workaholic and doesn’t have time for Christmas. There is an annoyingly “cute” moppet trying to change her mind. SH  
12:49  
**Sherlock:** Do people actually watch this dreck? SH  
12:49  
**John:** Far too often. That’s pretty much all I did between coming back from Afghanistan and Christmas. Dark times…  
12:50  
**John:** Back to patients. Will check in later.  
12:50  
**Today** 13:23  
**Sherlock:** Santa lost his memory. He’s also not fat or jolly. And there was another where Santa was a woman. Americans... Why do people insist on taking well-known public characters and putting them in different situations? I don’t see the appeal. SH  
13:23  
**John:** Character study?  
13:29  
**Sherlock:** It’s ridiculous. SH  
13:29  
**John:** You think everything is ridiculous.  
13:31  
**Sherlock:** You’re not. Well, you’re less ridiculous than most everyone else. SH  
13:32  
**John:** Thanks. :) You’re ridiculous, but in a good way. My kind of way. :D  
13:33  
**Sherlock:** I’m glad. SH  
13:41  
**John:** Me too. Patient. Feel free to keep up a running commentary of bad telly, though. It’s keeping me entertained between times.  
13:42  
**Sherlock:** I’m not bothering you? SH  
13:43  
**John:** Not at all.  
13:43  
**Sherlock:** Good. SH  
13:44  
**Today** 14:04  
**Sherlock:** Oh look, an ensemble piece. We’ve been introduced to at least ten people in the first five minutes. SH  
14:04  
**Sherlock:** There’s going to be porn in this one? That’s not normal Christmas fare. SH  
14:14  
**Sherlock:** There are musicians popping up out of the audience of a wedding. There’s no way a trombone could hide without people noticing. This is preposterous. SH  
14:18  
**Sherlock:** And now we’re at a funeral. Does this film have a plot? SH  
14:24  
**Sherlock:** There’s a man trying to get to America to get laid. Seriously, what is this? SH  
14:30  
**Sherlock:** Even the children are in love. The theme of this film just seems to be couples at Christmas. That’s not even a plot. SH  
14:35  
**Sherlock:** Oh joy, even a prime minister sub plot. God this is inane. SH  
14:39  
**Sherlock:** No Christmas is complete without a stalker. SH  
14:42  
**Sherlock:** I should not have to be subjected to Hugh Grant dancing. SH  
14:54  
**Sherlock:** Why is this man writing on an old typewriter outside in the wind? Writing tropes make no sense. SH  
14:56  
**Sherlock:** This man and woman can’t even communicate in the same language, and we’re supposed to believe they can fall in love? SH  
14:57  
**Sherlock:** There is so much maudlin tripe happening. Which, to be fair, it is a Christmas film. But it had funerals and sex, so I thought it would be different. SH  
15:17  
**Sherlock:** Mr Bean? Why is he talking? Mr Bean doesn’t speak. He’s Mr Bean. SH  
15:25  
**John:** Oh dear lord. You’re watching Love Actually aren’t you? How are you even still functioning?  
15:38  
**John:** At least you know who Mr Bean is. And Hugh Grant.  
15:39  
**Sherlock:** It’s impossible to live in this country and not know Mr Bean. SH  
15:39  
**Sherlock:** And Hugh Grant. Unfortunately. SH  
15:39  
**John:** I can’t believe you’ve kept this same film on for over an hour. Love the commentary though. :D  
15:40  
**Sherlock:** I’m too weak to change the channel. Just easier to watch in horror. SH  
15:40  
**John:** And text me colour commentary. Not too weak for that at least. Are you taking your meds? Drinking lots of fluids?  
15:40  
**Sherlock:** Yes, doctor. Fever down. SH  
15:41  
**John:** Good.  
15:42  
**Sherlock:** Or maybe not? I seem to be hallucinating. There can’t be actual porn happening in a Christmas film. SH  
15:42  
**John:** That’s an odd subplot, I’ll grant you.  
15:42  
**Sherlock:** But… charming. Sweet. SH  
15:43  
**John:** You must still be feverish if you’re calling something charming and sweet.  
15:44  
**Sherlock:** I think it’s the juxtaposition of the fake sex and the building relationship between those two characters. Out of all of the people in this film, these two are the only ones who seem suited to each other. And the only ones taking the time to talk and learn about each other. I can see why she likes him. SH  
15:44  
**Sherlock:** He reminds me of you. SH  
15:44  
**John:** The man having sex in a Christmas film reminds you of me? I’m not sure how I should take that.  
15:45  
**Sherlock:** I meant in looks. You favour each other. SH  
15:45  
**Sherlock:** In the face. I wouldn’t know about the rest. SH  
15:45  
**John:** Short, blond, and plain-looking. Pretty common traits here in England.  
15:46  
**John:** Anyway. Last patient, paperwork, then I’ll be heading home. I’ll see you in a bit. Enjoy the rest of the film. :D  
15:46  
**Sherlock:** You’re far from plain. Your eyes alone set you apart. And your smile. But all of you combined is quite pleasant to look at. SH  
15:46  
**Sherlock:** At least, according to women I’ve heard talking about you. I’m not the best judge of looks. Transport, you know. SH  
15:48  
**Sherlock:** Oh dear lord, the stalker is back. SH  
15:49  
**Sherlock:** The one in the film. No stalkers here at the flat. SH  
15:49  
**Today** 16:30  
**John:** It’s okay if you think I’m fit Sherlock. ;)  
16:30  
**John:** Missed the rest of the film commentary. You’ll have to tell me about it when I get home. Leaving now.  
16:30  
**Sherlock:** Good. It’s been too quiet here without you. SH  
16:32  
**John:** :D  
16:32  



	17. 17 December, Stuck at Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's still ill. John and Sherlock spend the day on the couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this, I didn't even think about this being opening weekend for The Last Jedi (which I can't see until next weekend, so no spoilers!!). So that worked out well. :) I loved writing this chapter, because I want to be a fly on the wall watching them watch any popular movie together. I'm sure it's hilarious. I'm afraid I'm not witty enough, but I hope this isn't too terrible.

“John.”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“Bored.”

“You’re not calling Lestrade. You’re still ill. You need to stay home and rest.”

“Jaaawwwnnn.”

“Sherrrrrloooockkkk.”

“Boooorrrreddddd.”

“Telly.”

“No.”

“Book.”

“No.”

…

“What are you doing?!? John, why are you– What are you–? John?”

“Sit. It’s now a film day.”

“Oh.” … “I just did that yesterday.”

“And you enjoyed it.”

“I can’t take any more of that holiday drivel.”

“That’s fine.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Finding this.”

“ _Star… Wars_? Is that the one with Sir Patrick Stewart?”

“You know who that is?”

“His work on the stage is well known.”

“True. But no, he was on _Star_ **_Trek_**.”

“Oh. Is _Star Wars_ the– no, that’s _Stargate_ … Ah, must be the one with the man in black.”

“What? No, this isn’t _Princ_ – oooh, right. Darth Vader. Yes, that’s the one.”

“I don’t like sci–”

“Don’t care.

“I’m the convalescent. Shouldn’t I get to choose the film?”

“I’m putting up with your convalescing arse. I’m pretty sure I’ve got the worse end of the deal. We’re watching what I want. Maybe it’ll put you to sleep, and I’ll get some peace and quiet.”

“This font crawl is rather dated, isn’t it?”

“It’s iconic. Now shut up and pay attention.”

* * *

“Why are the robots humanoid? They’re far less efficient that way.

“It makes them likable.”

“But why do they need to be likeable? They’re robots.”

“They’re droids.”

“But–”

“Hush.”

* * *

“This man obviously knows Luke. Must they broadcast everything before it happens?”

“It was made in the ‘70s. Complicated plots weren’t a thing in science fiction then.”

* * *

“A science fiction film has _magic_?

“The Force isn’t magic, really. It’s midichlo– nope. Even I thought that was a weak and ridiculous retcon. Yes, it’s magic.”

“Preposterous.”

“Gah! Your feet are like ice. Put some socks on, man!”

“You’re warmer than socks.”

* * *

“Han shot first.”

“Is there a reason you’re stating the obvious, John?”

“Just making sure. There’s some debate.”

“About whether one fictional character shot another one first? This is why no one can observe real life. They’re stuck in fantasy worlds.”

* * *

“That’s no moon.”

“Are you going to quote the entire film?”

“Might do. Problem?”

Sigh. “I suppose it’s part of your…charm.”

“You think I’m charming?”

“Not right now.”

* * *

“Really? A space station so large and complex has such an obvious weak spot? Who engineered this thing? I mean, that’s only one of the many, many bits wrong about this space station. There’s also the–”

“If you don’t shut up, I will find a way to do it for you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

“I’m not frightened of you.”

“Fear is not a requirement. I could surprise you into silence.”

“Oh, John. There’s nothing you could do that would surprise me.”

…

“John?”

“Never mind. Watch the film.”

* * *

“As if anyone was surprised when this Hans character showed back up.”

“It’s Han.”

* * *

“Well. That was… a film.”

“Want to watch the next one?”

“There are _more_?”

“Two more in this series, and then three prequels that were terrible.”

“You mean this one is considered _good_? Dear lord. No wonder humanity is as hopeless as it is.”

“Is that a no then?”

Sigh. “I’ll put it on. You make tea. My throat hurts.”

* * *

“Oh!”

“Sorry, am I too close? I can move.”

“No. It’s– it’s fine. You’re. Warm.”

“Good. My patient should be comfortable.”

“He is. Very.”

* * *

“Sherlock.”

…

“Sherlock.”

“Hhmmm?”

“You fell asleep. Do you want to go to bed?”

Contented sigh. “No. ’m fine.”

“My shoulder can’t be that comfortable.”

“You’re lovely.”

“Oh. Well. Umm. Maybe. How about we…”

“Tha’s nice.”

“Good. Good.”

“John?”

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“ _Star Wars_ isn’t so bad.”

“Not bad at all.”

“Thank you. For today.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m going back to sleep now.”

Chuckle. “You do that.”


	18. 18 December, Favorite Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock contemplates Christmas traditions, John does something appalling for the sake of the season, and pretty lights are seen.

“Sherlock! If you’re not ready in five minutes, I’m leaving without you!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued his job without haste. “You’re still making cocoa! I have at least four minutes, and all I’m doing is changing shirts.”

He wasn’t changing shirts. John’s gift had arrived that afternoon, but he’d not had time to hide it before John returned home from shopping. He likely didn’t need to go through the trouble of hiding it, seeing as John boringly never snooped. How was Sherlock supposed to hone his craft if John didn’t challenge him? Granted, John seemed quite oblivious to the game, given that he never appreciated Sherlock’s snooping either. John was marvelous at many things, but he didn’t seem particularly interested in becoming a better detective. Ah well. No one was perfect, though John did a fairly decent job at that in general, at being perfect, or at least perfect for Sherlock. In any case, Sherlock thought it best to do at least a passing job at hiding the gift, because the package was large and John could happen across it if there was a legitimate reason for him to enter Sherlock’s room.

Christmas had never been a big deal for Sherlock, not once he’d sussed out the whole Father Christmas lie at least. Then and there, Christmas had lost that magical, liminal space it had occupied for him as a small child. And deducing meant there were never any surprises, so over time it had become just another day.

Until John. Granted, their first Christmas together had been pretty disastrous. But even then, John had unknowingly begun to drag Sherlock into the season. At the beginning, Sherlock had scoffed at John—the fascinating, unpredictable man—kowtowing to Christmas traditions just because he thought he was normal. The ridiculous jumpers, the decorations, the cards, the music—all were things that no self-respecting adult actually enjoyed, rather merely things they forced on themselves and others to pretend the season was meaningful. In time, though, Sherlock had realized that there was nothing forced about John’s celebration of the holiday. Performing the rituals was a way for him to remember happier times, when the world was simple and getting a new toy was as easy as writing a letter to a generous man who lived at the top of the world with magical pets.

It had been a long time since Sherlock had experienced that, and even as he allowed some traditions to creep into his current life, he knew that he performed them for a different reason. John performed them to remember the past, Sherlock performed them as a sign of a brighter future. He was happy for the first time in so long, and with John by his side for the foreseeable future, he hoped the happiness would last. So he wrote cards and bought gifts and didn’t turn off the Christmas music (well, unless certain infernal songs were played, then all bets were off). And he voluntarily went out into the cold at night—not a criminal in sight—to go and look at Christmas light displays. While he had the flu, no less. John had even given him an out because of his lingering illness, but Sherlock had insisted. If that wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was.

“Pouring cocoa in the thermos now! You ready?” John called from the kitchen.

Sherlock tucked the present under a blanket at the bottom of his wardrobe, closed the door, pulled on his jacket, and headed toward the kitchen. His mouth opened to say he was ready, but instead of that pronouncement, what came out was, “Christmas sicked up all over you.”

John stood in the kitchen, thermos in hand, wearing the ugliest wool creation Sherlock had ever laid eyes on (though, given how awful it was, it had to be synthetic fibers; no self-respecting wool would be used for such appalling means). It was striped with eye-searing green (neon, not kelly), bright red, and a blue closer to turquoise than navy. Each thick stripe contained a row of Christmas symbols—bells, wreathes, snowmen, snowflakes, the whole lot. John seemed quite happy with the fact that he’d been vomited on by a holiday, given the shit-eating grin on his face. Somehow, despite the glare of ugly coming from John’s mid-section, Sherlock was staring at the most gorgeous creature he’d had the good fortune to ever witness. John’s face was luminous. His eyes were soft, that grin still in place.

“You like? Harry gave it to me. We do gag gifts on St. Nick’s. She outdid herself this year. Since she’s not coming with us tonight, I thought I could at least honor her by wearing this beast during our walk,” John explained as he bundled himself up for their trek into the cold night.

Sherlock, coated and gloved, was looking for his scarf when he felt soft fabric settle around his neck.

“Here,” John said softly. “I found it in the bathroom sink, of all places.” He tucked the ends in. “Can’t have you cold while you’re still convalescing.”

For a moment, Sherlock couldn’t move. So many times in the past few weeks they’d had moments like this. Moments that made him _certain_ that John wanted what Sherlock wanted. But to wreck their friendship would be ruinous. It was the most important relationship in his life, and he’d much rather have their almost-perfect friendship than risk a chance at something more and have it go pear-shaped.

 _Of course_ , a small part of him (that sounded nauseatingly like Mycroft) mocked _, in actuality you’re just a hopeless romantic fool who wants to wait until Christmas to push things along_. And the practical side of him agreed with this, because for a John who loved Christmas, what was better than getting a romance for the holidays? Assuming that’s what John wanted, which he was pretty sure at this point was the case. Hopefully. Sherlock was working to give John the perfect Christmas this year, to make up for missing the last two. So perhaps he wasn’t scared. Perhaps he was just waiting. He hadn’t decided yet.

Instead of discerning his motivations, he followed his flatmate out into the night and into a cab that would take them to the area Sherlock had deemed perfect for light viewing.

As they rode down the streets to which Sherlock directed the cabbie (areas with adequate lights for viewing from a moving vehicle), John cleared his throat. “Thank you, for planning this. I know it’s silly. I can see plenty of lights in our area of the city. It’s just…” His mouth was lopsided, his eyes not quite meeting Sherlock’s.

“It reminds you of simpler times. Better times,” Sherlock finished, saving him from his embarrassment.

The other corner of John’s mouth ticked up, turning his grimace into a smile. “Simpler, yes. Better? I’m beginning to think not.” His voice was quiet and low.

Sherlock’s stomach flip-flopped, but before he could react, the cab pulled to a stop. Sherlock distracted himself with paying and shooing John out of the vehicle.

Sherlock pointed in the direction they wanted to go, and they started up the pavement. Thought he should have been paying attention to the lights, his eyes kept straying back to his friend, watching his reaction as new displays came into view. A part of Sherlock sneered at the innocence John still possessed for the holiday, but another part understood that it wasn’t innocence, but nostalgia. And that part of him, too, was remembering what it felt like to wake up at 4am, practically vibrating with excitement and wonder.

Their eyes met from time to time, as did their shoulders. So many times, Sherlock almost gave in to his need to grab John’s hand, pull him close, and kiss him breathless. But then John’s eyes would alight on something new, and he’d smile and slow down to take it all in, and Sherlock couldn’t bear to take that moment away from him. So he followed along and let himself store the moment in John’s wing of his mind palace. Tiny flakes fell from the sky, lights dazzled his eyes, a likely imagined warmth radiated from John’s side where they were almost pressed together. A peaceful cocoon surrounded the two of them. Sherlock let it linger, needing to give this moment to John. There would be time enough for more. For now, this was good. This was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for John's sweater [here](https://realuglychristmassweaters.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/Crazy-Bells-Ugly-Christmas-Sweater-Front.jpg).


	19. 19 December, Travelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes out of town on a case. Significant things are communicated via text.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another formatted texting chapter.
> 
> Posting this sucker now, because it's ready and I <3 this chapter so much.
> 
> Also, it's a short conversation this time, but it's pretty weighty, so I don't think you'll mind... much. ;)

John  
  
**Today** 08:32  
**Sherlock:** I hate trains. They’re stuffy, smelly, and claustrophobic. Why did I agree to take this case? Why aren’t you with me? SH  
08:32  
**Sherlock:** The child across the aisle won’t stop staring at me. SH  
08:41  
**Sherlock:** I can’t stretch my legs out enough. SH  
08:53  
**Sherlock:** The man two rows ahead of me is a kleptomaniac. SH  
09:01  
**Sherlock:** Did I bin the thumbs? SH  
09:07  
**John:** 09:12: Trains are terrible, agreed. You’re taking the case because you were bored. I’m not with you because they need all hands at the clinic. Children find you fascinating, that’s why the kid is staring. I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable. I’m glad there’s some people interesting enough to distract you on the train. Yes, you binned the thumbs—many thanks.  
09:12  
**Sherlock:** This is all so tedious. You should quit that job so you can join me on all of the cases. SH  
09:15  
**John:** You don’t need me on most of them. I’m only helpful in limited settings. And I like being a doctor.  
09:23  
**Sherlock:** I always need you, John. SH  
09:23  
**John:** You just want someone to entertain you when you travel. :)  
09:24  
**Sherlock:** I want you.  
09:24  
**Sherlock:** I mean, I want specifically YOU around. SH  
09:25  
**Sherlock:** You’re my best friend. I like that we talk about stupid things. Or laugh about stupid people. You help me see things more clearly. You keep me safe. You explain things I don’t understand. You calm my mind. You’re funny and intelligent. SH  
09:25  
**Sherlock:** Sometimes I don’t understand why you’d want to be friends with me, but you do. You moved back to Baker Street. You nurse me when I’m ill. You’re concerned about me. You listen to my rants. I’ve never had someone like you before, and I’m grateful. SH  
09:25  
**Sherlock:** I want to be a better person because of you. SH  
09:26  
**Sherlock:** John? SH  
09:29  
**Sherlock:** Is everything alright? SH  
09:36  
**Sherlock:** If I’ve overstepped my boundaries, I apologize. You know I’m rubbish at this social thing. I just meant  
09:45  
**Sherlock:** I just thought, since it’s almost Christmas, and I haven’t explained myself fully since my return, I should do so. To show that I don’t want to take you for granted again. That I appreciate that you forgave me. For leaving you and lying to you for so long. SH  
09:45  
**Sherlock:** That’s all. Just. You’re my friend. Thank you. SH  
09:46  
**Sherlock:** I’m sorry if I’ve said something that makes you uncomfortable. SH  
09:47  
**Today** 10:13  
**John:** Oh God Sherlock. I am SO SORRY. New nurse didn’t know to buzz me before sending my patient in. (Mrs Fenwith. You know how she likes to talk.) Bear with me. This is going to be long and I type slow, so just. Be patient.  
10:13  
**John:** I’m not upset. AT ALL. In fact. Thank you. I mean, you’ve been different since you came back. I know we’re friends, and I know you don’t take me for granted. Well, no worse than any person takes their friends for granted. I’m glad you want me around for even the boring cases. That I can provide help to you no matter what. And you don’t know what it means that I make you want to be a better person. Same for me. You inspire me.  
10:14  
**John:** And I’m grateful too. You saved me from making the very bad decision of asking Mary to marry me. She was lovely. And she helped me a lot while you were away. So I don’t regret getting to know her. But my place is not out in the suburbs with kids round foot and a doting (or in Mary’s case snarky) wife. It’s by your side. Getting into trouble. Laughing at inappropriate things. Learning something new every day.  
10:15  
**John:** And.  
10:16  
**John:** I'm yours.  
10:18  
**John:** Take that however you want. I’m your best friend. Always. But. If there’s something else. I mean.  
10:18  
**John:** I don’t know what I mean. Just. I’m here. If you need me.  
10:19  
**John:** So. That’s all.   
10:20  
**John:** Damn. I really need to get back to work. It’s going to be a busy day, so I probably won’t have time to check my messages that often. But I won’t reject you for anything you say. So. Say it now or say it later. I’m here. Always.  
10:20  
**Today** 11:43  
**Sherlock:** Soon. SH  
11:43  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! Sorrynotsorry. I'm afraid tomorrow is someone else's POV while Sherlock gallivants around Birmingham, so no continuation to this tomorrow. But you will find Day 21's ficlet satisfying, no worries.


	20. 20 December, Stocking Stuffers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sally is not a fan of Christmas gift shopping. This year, it's more complicated than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't quite stocking stuffers, so I'm fudging the prompt a little. But gift exchange presents are small and not quite so thought out (usually) as normal gifts, so it sort of falls under the stocking stuffer umbrella. Right?

Sally hated shopping. Annoying enough when it was just the weekly trip to the supermarket, practically rage-inducing when searching for gifts for Christmas. Mum had been surprisingly easy, a post-modern painting seen at an antique store during a case had been snatched up and wrapped weeks ago. Dad preferred consumables, so he was getting a meat and cheese basket. Her sister and brother were getting gift cards, because she couldn’t think of anything they’d like. Mum had got onto her last year for that, but Sally really didn’t have the time to figure out the inner workings of two people she didn’t particularly get on with.

Now all that was left was a gift for the person she’d drawn for the holiday gift exchange at work… Sherlock Holmes. Sally had several issues with this year’s exchange. First of all, instead of gag or white elephant gifts that got picked and unwrapped at random, they had to draw a name and get that person something they’d actually not hate. Second, Watson had forced Holmes to participate. She wished she’d been a fly on the wall to listen to that row, but otherwise did not find Holmes’s participation to be a good thing, especially after _she’d_ drawn his name.

So there Sally was, fighting mad holiday shoppers and trying to figure out something Holmes would actually appreciate—besides a dead body.

She was past her hatred and disgust of the man. He was a genius—possibly autistic, as she’d never actually bought the high-functioning sociopath routine—and he did save lives, so Sally could appreciate his help. But there was the fact that she was a part—a small one, but a part nonetheless—of the reason he’d leaped to his supposed death two years before, and that had haunted her nights for far too long. Strange man though he might be, he had not deserved to be forced away from everything he knew and loved for years.

Sally wished she could say she had come around on her own, but she’d needed a large push from Watson and Lestrade. The latter had practically forced her to attend Holmes’s funeral—and damn if he wasn’t an insightful bastard from time to time. Sally needed to be confronted by her better angels.

Seeing Watson completely devastated and barely functioning at the funeral had stopped her in her tracks. Yeah, over the years, she’d teased him about his “crush” on the mad detective, and there had been that pool at the office on when the pair would start shagging, but she’d never actually believed they were together. But a nearly catatonic John Watson—a man unflappable in dire situations, able to put up with Holmes like no one else—had made Sally see how wrong she’d been. That was a man grieving a _loved one_. It didn’t even matter if they were shagging or not. It was the mere thought that someone in this world loved Sherlock Holmes. In that moment, he became human to Sally.

Then he’d come back, and it seemed his time away let him see that he was human as well. He still got impatient that no one could keep up with him, but he was a bit less biting than before, more willing to listen, especially when it was Watson speaking.

Sally wondered if it would’ve been easier to buy Holmes a gift before she’d realized he was human. In fact, she _knew_ it would be. She could’ve grabbed anything off the shelf and called it a day. But now… now she actually cared. He was far from her best mate, but Sally had the job she did because of her ability to care.

So she was stuck actually putting thought into her £20 gift to a man who was a mystery to everyone. Except to Watson. There was an idea. Maybe he could tell her what to get the detective. It would be smarter and faster than wandering the aisles of shop after shop, trying to come up with something herself.

“Watson,” the doctor answered, when she rang him.

“Sorry to bother you this evening, Doctor,” Sally began. “I’ve got a bit of an emergency.”

“Oh. Hey, Donovan. I’m afraid Sherlock’s in Birmingham on a case. Not coming back ‘til the 22nd, from the sound of it.”

“Not that kind of emergency. Personal one,” she explained, vaguely watching a dancing elf on the shelf in front of her. The things people came up with for the holidays.

“Oh? And you need my help? Everything okay? Someone hurt?”

“No. No. Just…” Sally bit her lip. She hated asking for help. “I drew Holmes for the gift exchange, and I have no clue what to get him.”

Watson chuckled. “I was wondering who the unlucky bastard was who got Sherlock. I am sorry.”

Sally shrugged, unseen by Watson. “It’s fine. No harder than if I’d drawn most of the others participating. So, any ideas?”

He hmmed. “Plenty of us will be taking the easy route, like scarves or gift certificates. Wine.”

“And be mocked mercilessly by His Nibs? I’ll pass. Come on, Watson. You know him better than anyone else. Give me some insight.”

He laughed, maybe a little sadly. “I wish I had insight into his brain right now.” He paused for a moment. “I guess you could just go to a charity shop and grab the first weird thin– Oh!” Watson cut himself off. “I didn’t see the price, but it’s worth at least looking into. More work than a bottle of wine, though, and I could give you a few labels I know he doesn’t hate, if you’d rather go the easy route.”

“Just spit it out, Watson.

“There was a framed drawing that caught his eye. If you don’t get it, I actually might go back for it. I could tell he liked it.”

Watson then proceeded to describe the drawing and its location in the shop, then named the shop and where it was located. Not too far from where she currently was. Sally sighed in relief. Well, mostly relief. There was a chance the piece of art would be gone by the time she got to the shop.

Apparently luck was on her side that night, for the drawing was still tucked in the corner of the shop. It only took a glance for Sally to understand why it had caught Holmes’s eye, and as she paid for it, she made a mental note to put her money on the next few days for the office pool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visualize whatever you want that drawing to be that made Sally realize there are THINGS happening between S&J. But, for the record, I see it being a soldier helping a fallen comrade. ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this Sally POV. :D I've had such a grand time writing Molly and now Sally's POVs, that I now want to do a whole fic with just Molly, Sally, and Stella. Ladies being BAMF, heck yeah.
> 
> Back to the saga of John and Sherlock tomorrow!


	21. 21 December, Longest Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John can't sleep. Sherlock comes back from the case a bit early. It's the longest night of the year.

John can’t sleep, so he sits in his chair in front of the fire. Thinking. Sherlock has been radio silent all day, other than one update on the case around midday. He’ll be back tomorrow, just in time to get the place ready for their Christmas party, which means no time to talk. And though John up until now has been okay with waiting, with taking things slowly, all of a sudden he can’t wait. Their text conversation the day Sherlock left for Birmingham has changed everything. Now that he’s basically put his heart on a platter for Sherlock to do with as he likes, he’s anxious for whatever will come next.

He doesn’t think Sherlock will reject him, but the possibility exists. If he rejects John’s romantic overtures but is fine with platonic ones, that would be fine. The only thing John can’t handle is being told to leave. That his advances are unwanted and a distraction, that John is not worth Sherlock’s time anymore. That their friendship is _over_.

But he doesn’t think it will go there, despite the tiny voice that’s been taunting him since he told Sherlock he was there for whatever Sherlock wanted. Sherlock made some pronouncements of his own during that texting conversation a few days ago, and he’s grown so much the past few years that John really believes that, at the very least, their friendship will remain intact.

John hopes for more than that, though. He hopes he’s read Sherlock correctly the last few weeks. He hopes that Sherlock has decided that romantic entanglement is something he wants now. He hopes that Sherlock loves John the way John loves Sherlock. And because he hopes so hard, he’s almost certain that Sherlock _does_ want something more. But it’s just a hope.

A click of a lock and the sound of a passing car drifts through an open front door and up the stairs. Not Mrs. Hudson. She’d gone to bed after a busy day of helping John clean and decorate the flat, bless. Only one person it can be then. Well, him or a deranged killer, but the footsteps on the stairs signal which it is.

John feels panic crawl up his spine, swirl through his stomach, inch across the palms of his hands. Why is Sherlock back tonight? What will happen now? Is John about to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to him (twice)?

The footsteps draw nearer. Past the landing now. John tries to deduce Sherlock’s mood from the weight and pace of his steps. Quick and growing quicker. Before John can make a deduction, the door swings open. A slightly panting detective stands in the doorway. His hand grips the doorknob. He’s bundled up for the cold, but his scarf hangs long on one end and his hair is mussed. One glove is missing from its hand.

“Sherlock?” John tries to get out, but it’s not even a whisper. His throat is dry and tight. He stands up from his chair and wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers. Time to face the music. He clears his throat. “I thought you weren’t back ‘til tomorrow.”

Sherlock looks down at the floor. His knuckles are white where he still grips the doorknob. “I…” He breathes in. “It’s after midnight, so technically it’s already Sunday. I just… made better travel time than expected.”

Something in John’s chest loosens a little. It’s just so… Sherlock. Even if they don’t take that step toward romance, he knows they’ll be alright, that Sherlock won’t reject him completely.

“Oh. Well. My compliments to the rail company. And during the holidays too.” It seems inane and stupid, but Sherlock looks up and smiles. It’s a smile that says what John’s feeling. _We’ll be alright. No matter what._ John breathes a little easier.

“Everything okay?”

“What?”

“With the case? I didn’t know you’d wrapped it up. Last you said, you were still waiting on something.”

“Oh. Yes. Fine. The case. Solved it.”

“Good.”

Usually they would discuss things while sitting in their chairs opposite each other. Maybe with tea in hand. But Sherlock still stands in the doorway of the flat. John could tease him about letting all the warmth from the fire out of the room, but he doesn’t. If he wants things to be different between them, he needs to act different.

So he makes his way over to Sherlock, slowly. With one cautious hand, he pulls the lopsided scarf from Sherlock’s neck. John slides past his friend to hang the scarf on the hook outside the door, not making any attempt to not touch him. It’s probably just his imagination, but it feels like the air between them buzzes with tension. Since he’s behind Sherlock, who hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway, he puts his hands up to the collar of Sherlock’s coat and pulls the posh article of clothing off, hooking it on top of the scarf. Before he can decide whether to go for the lone glove as well, Sherlock comes out of his daze and removes it himself, stuffing it in the coat pocket. Since John is still standing in front of the hook, Sherlock has to reach around him to put it away, essentially trapping John between Sherlock and the coat. His gaze lingers a moment on John’s face, as if he’s searching for something, but then he steps away.

“Lose one?” John asks, breaking the moment.

Sherlock’s eyes meet John’s. “Pardon?”

“Glove. You’ve only got the one.”

“Oh?” Sherlock asks, genuinely confused. “I reckon I left it in the cab.” He doesn’t seem bothered by the thought. He continues staring at John.

John’s heartbeat ticks up a notch. He can’t read Sherlock’s face, which is a mask of concentration. “You came back early,” he reminds Sherlock. “Everything okay?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. Just…” Sherlock’s eyes finally dart away as he trails off. “I ju– It–” He stops again.

John takes pity and—perhaps to also calm his own nerves—nods toward the door. “It’s warmer in front of the fire. Sherlock’s head bobs in agreement. He backs away, letting John through the door to the flat first. John gives a final glance to his friend before leading the way to their chairs. He hears the door close, and then Sherlock’s footsteps falter.

“You’re mine?” Sherlock asks, very quiet and very low.

John freezes, breath caught in his throat. His mind goes back to their text conversation. John saying _I’m yours. Take that however you want._ The panic and euphoria he felt typing it. He closes his eyes and forces himself to breath. He doesn’t turn around. Maybe, just for this first part, it’ll be easier if he’s not looking at Sherlock, not trying to gauge his facial expressions. He swallows, throat dry.

“Yeah,” he confirms, just as quietly.

“You mean…”

“I mean. I’m in it ‘til the end, Sherlock. And if you want things to remain exactly how they are now, I would be… _so_ happy. Truly. But, if we– if you want– if–” Why is this so hard? He had hesitated only a bit when he’d offered himself in a text message, hidden as he was behind a screen. But here, in the rosy glow of fire and fairy lights, with Sherlock breathing shallowly behind him, it’s suddenly hard to get the words out. John takes a deep breath and turns around.

Oh. There’s a little wrinkle between Sherlock’s brows. His eyes are glossy. His lower lip trembles. Though there’s no sadness or regret in the face now, it reminds John of how Sherlock had looked in the train car with the bomb, when he was apologizing. The _openness_ of the expression. He discounts the thought that Sherlock could be acting. Even though he’d been an utter dick after the apology, John knew the apology itself was real. He knew Sherlock had only acted that way because they were both complete shite at feelings and he wanted to make them both more comfortable. But the face, the apology, had been real. John had felt that in his bones. It had been the impetus he’d needed to break things off with Mary and move back to Baker Street.

He has that same feeling now. This is Sherlock completely open to John. This is Sherlock scared and hopeful and confused and so completely amazing. John takes a step forward. “I want you to be happy, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s mouth works wordlessly. “I’m not good at– I’ve never… done…”

“What would make you happy, Sherlock?” John asks softly, taking another step forward. “That’s what matters. Everything else? Details.” It feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. His fingers tingle. He takes a deep breath.

Sherlock bites his lip and looks away. When he looks back, his face is more composed, but hope still shines from his eyes. John takes the final step forward and points above his own head. Sherlock looks up and his eyes widen. The mistletoe Mrs. Hudson had insisted on is right above John. Sherlock still stands two steps away.

Sherlock takes those final steps. Slowly. Carefully. John reaches up and caresses Sherlock’s cheek with his thumb. “Yes?”

Sherlock jerks his head in assent, eyes wide. John pulls Sherlock down, pressing their lips together, chastely and simply. Sherlock lets out a breath, and his hands land on John’s shoulders. He presses back. He’s both soft and insistent. He smells like cold. His hair is soft and damp. He’s tall and bony and so completely Sherlock.

John can’t believe they’ve finally made it here. This is really happening. The thought fills him with euphoria. John only pulls away when they’re both grinning too hard to continue the kiss, but he doesn’t go far, content to stay in the circle of Sherlock’s welcoming arms.

John beams up at Sherlock, whose eyes are bright and crinkled, whose cheeks are red, whose mouth is split into John’s favorite smile, the one just for him. “Happy Christmas,” John whispers.

Sherlock giggles and hides his face at John’s temple. It’s perfect. “It’s not Christmas yet, John. Happy Midwinter’s Day.”

“Technically it’s Sunday, so the solstice is over,” he retorts, not letting Sherlock win.

“Ah, but tonight is the longest night, so we can observe the solstice until the sun comes up.” His voice rumbles pleasingly in John’s ear.

John can’t stop smiling. “That’s good.” It’s better than good. It’s fantastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hypothetical reader: Whaaat? Meagan, you're not waiting for Christmas to let them have their magical moment?  
> Me: No, I like to be contrary like that. Plus, they deserve to let the Christmas magic last longer than just the day.
> 
> The major(ish) saga of Sherlock and John coming together is complete, but there's still quite a few more days until I'm done with this ficlet collection. I've got a few smaller storylines to wrap up, plus Christmas itself. Look forward to moving back to fluff and banter as the year comes to a close. :)


	22. 22 December, Party Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly enjoys this holiday party far more than she did the last one at Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Back to Molly and Stella. If you need a reminder of their little storyline, read Day 14, Elf.
> 
> I'm leaving it up to you whether you read their relationship as friendship or pre-slash. I just think they're sweet together and good for each other. I hope you agree!

“They’re different, right? It’s not just me?”

Molly breaks out of her vague staring at the fairy lights to find Sergeant Donovan standing in front of her. She takes a swig of her beer and nods her head over to the kitchen where John and Sherlock are doing something with the food. They’ve been better hosts than usual at this year’s holiday ‘do. Not that hard given how terrible their last party was. Last time there was John’s girlfriend glaring at John glaring at Sherlock being a big prick. Yes, this year, there’s a lack of tension overall, and more people to talk to.

“Oh yes. This year’s party is loads better. But you weren’t at the other one, were you?”

The sergeant laughs. “I’ve heard stories. But no, I meant the two of them in general. They’re acting different today.”

Molly studies the pair. John’s explaining something while refreshing the crisps and punch on the table. Sherlock, not doing whatever he’s meant to be doing, is looking down at John fondly. Softly. Yes, Molly had noticed that. It’s not all that different than she’s seen him look before, but this time it’s open, rather than just when John isn’t looking. And John has been freer with his touching. Nothing that would scream “we’re a couple,” but definitely more touching than is normal for him and Sherlock.

“Yeah, I suppose they are,” Molly finally agrees. “Good for them.” She’s happy for them. Her crush on Sherlock long dead, she’s content to let Sherlock find happiness with someone who complements him, which is definitely one Dr. John Watson.

The sergeant—Sally, she’d said to call her Sally—gives her a lopsided grin. “Yeah, it really is good for them.” She leans in secretively. “Think that means he’ll go a little easier on the rest of us?”

Molly snickers. “In any normal person? Maybe. But Sherlock? Not likely.”

Sally shrugs. “You’re probably right. So, you’ve been to their parties before. This one rates far better?”

“Oh yes! Much more relaxed. “There’s actual food. And no tension or rude comments. More people too.”

Molly usually doesn’t care for crowds, but she likes everyone here tonight. Well, Sherlock’s brother dropped ‘round earlier, and he’s always creeped her out a bit, but he only stayed about ten minutes. But everyone remaining is quite pleasant. She looks around. There’s only one person…

“But someone is missing?” Sally pulls Molly out of her perusal of the room with the query.

“What? No. Well. It’s just… Stella, um, DI Hopkins, said she might drop by. I have something for her, but she’s not been by yet.”

Sally tilts her head, and Molly feels a bit like she’s being x-rayed. Finally, Sally smirks. “She’ll be here. Wrapping up paperwork on a case. Said she’d be a bit late, but coming.”

“Oh. Good.” God, she sounds so silly. Why does everything about Stella seem so different all of a sudden? They were colleagues, then friends. Then Stella (likely suspect, at least) started leaving Molly advent gifts. Then Molly began to wonder why. Now… now what? Stella was just being friendly, right? Then why is Sally smirking at Molly like that? She didn’t sign up for any of this.

She manages to force out a bit more small talk before moving onto Mrs. Hudson, who doesn’t really need another speaking person to participate in the conversation. The things she says offhandedly reinforce the idea that John and Sherlock’s relationship has recently been upgraded. Molly is happy for them. Things have been rough lately. They deserve a little happiness.

Molly is brought out of her contemplations on how she also deserves happiness when there’s a tap on her shoulder. She turns to see a grinning Stella behind her. Molly relaxes a bit. Stella always has that effect on her.

“Sorry I’m late! Work was a bear today. Loads of paperwork.” Stella removes hat and scarf as she explains. She looks around for a coatrack, shrugs when there’s none to be found, and drops the accessories and her coat on a spare chair. She talks about the case, Molly following her to the kitchen for nibbles. “Refill your cup?” Stella asks as she fills her own with punch.

Molly holds out her cup. “Yes, please.”

“And you? I feel like we haven’t talked in forever. Alright?” They find a quiet corner to settle in for a chat.

“Alright.” Molly confirms. “Busy. I hate to find any joy in murder, but it does keep me in a job and distracted from the holidays.”

Stella’s brow furrows. “You don’t like Christmas?”

Molly hurries to dissuade her friend. “Oh no! I love Christmas. Just, Dad loved it too. Still getting used to having it without him. But I’m good. And this year has been even better. Thanks to…” She only thinks on it a moment. If she’s wrong, she’ll look a little silly, they’ll laugh about it and move on. “Thanks to you.”

Stella’s eyes dart to the side, but she’s smiling too. “Oh? What do you mean?” she asks, playing innocent. It makes Molly smile.

“I mean, I’ve had an elf giving me little gifts all month. They’ve been lovely.”

“What’s that to do with me?” Stella teases.

“The thing with being friends with detectives means you pick up a trick or two yourself.”

The detective grins. Her whole face lights up when she smiles. “What gave me away?”

“The hat. Which is… so lovely. It’s perfect. Did you make it yourself?” Just the thought of that gorgeous hand-made gift makes her happy all over again.

“I thought that might be the clincher,” Stella admits. “Yeah, I made it. So, good?”

“Very good,” Molly affirms. Her chest warms at the thought that Stella knitted a hat just for her. She’d never had a friend make her anything before, well, past primary school art class.

“You were supposed to get that one Christmas Eve, as the big final present, but I finished it earlier than expected, and I just couldn’t wait.”

“Well, I’m glad. It was perfect timing for the cold snap. And the yarn is just so lovely. Oh!” Molly remembers. “On moment.” She goes to the desk and picks up a brightly colored, festive bag tied with curly ribbon. She thrusts the bag as Stella. “Happy Christmas.”

Her friend’s eyes widen in surprise. She finds a table to put her plate and cup on and takes the bag from Molly. “Oh, Molls, you didn’t have to.” Her eyes are soft as she digs into the bag.

“Of course I did. Beyond all of the lovely gifts you’ve given me, you’ve made this holiday more than just bearable. Plus,” Molly adds, feeling brave. “It’s what friends do.”

Stella grins. “Yeah.” An envelope comes out of the bag first. She opens it to find a card that, when opened, reveals two tickets to the zoo.

“Might be childish,” Molly says, feeling a bit silly now. “But you said you liked animals, and you’re new to London, so…”

“It’s perfect,” Stella assures. “I’ve wanted to go for ages. We’ll have fun.”

“You don’t– We– I don’t have to go with you. I just thought buying one ticket seems sill–”

“Of _course_ you’re going with me. You’ve already given me a ten-minute lecture on ocelots. I want to hear all about the other animals.”

Molly can feel herself blush. “Oh. Thanks. Good. I was thinking. Maybe—if you didn’t mind—I could buy you a meal before or after? A couple of tickets isn’t much of a gift.”

“It’s a date,” Stella replies with a smile.

Does that mean _date_ date? Or just friend date? Molly doesn’t have the nerve to ask. She’s not sure what she wants anyway. Except Stella as her friend. And that she already has. Everything else… well.

“There’s more?” Stella asks, feeling the weight of the bag with wide eyes. She pulls out a skein of yarn, eyes wide. “TARDIS blue,” she says softly.

It had taken ages for Molly to pick it out. She knew a little about yarn from her dad, but choosing between weights and colors and fibers was nearly impossible, given the shear amount available at the shop, but the moment she’d seen that skein, she’d known. Both women are huge Doctor Who fans; it was one of the first things they’d talked about that wasn’t work-related. She’d thought it an apropos gift.

“I have the perfect pattern for this,” Stella announced excitedly. “More pretty than practical, the pattern, but I love it. This is amazing, Molls. Thank you!” She engulfs Molly in a bear hug.

Not expecting it, Molly stiffens at first, but relaxes almost immediately. She doesn’t get hugs very often. It’s nice, comforting, happy.

“You’re a good friend, Molls. I’m glad we met.”

Molly smiles and hugs a bit harder. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three women (four, if you count Mrs. Hudson) talking to each other in a Sherlock/Johnlock fic? It's a Christmas miracle! I am so crap about bringing anyone else into my Johnlock fics--let alone several women--so this collection has been great for me to grow in that respect.
> 
> I'll be traveling tomorrow, so you get two tonight! Dec 23 coming right up.


	23. 23 December, Family Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into the voicemail inbox of Sherlock Holmes, featuring Mummy Holmes, cameo by Father Holmes. Bonus from John's VM inbox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Travel tomorrow for me means double the chapters for you! This is the second of two chapters posted today. If you missed the Christmas party on Dec 22, go back a chapter. :)

_You have reached the voicemail inbox of Sherlock Holmes. Leave a short message—do not natter; relevant facts only—and I’ll return your message if there’s reason to. If you want someone to listen to your complaints, call John. *incoherent whispering* Thank you._

“Sherlock, dear. It’s Mummy.”

*Voice in background* “He knows who you are, my dear.”

“Hush you. These messages don’t record for long. Sherlock, I’m tidying up the house for your visit. John is still coming, isn’t he? We so want to meet him.”

“We’ve met him before.”

“Two seconds as your son is pushing us out the door doesn’t count, Harold.”

“Of course. How silly of me.”

“Anyway. Please let me know if we should expect the good doctor. See you tomorrow, love.”

* * *

_You have reached the voicemail inbox of Sherlock Holmes. Leave a short message—do not natter; relevant facts only—and I’ll return your message if there’s reason to. If you want someone to listen to your complaints, call John. *incoherent whispering* Thank you._

“Hello again, dear. I received your text message. I’m so happy John will be joining us! Does he have any food allergies? Anything he doesn’t like? We’ll be doing– Harold, we’re still doing the ham right?” *indistinct talking* “Sherlock, we’ll be doing the ham with potatoes and those Brussels sprouts you like so much. Edith just brought over a Banoffee pie, so we’ll have that as well. Let me know if there’s anything else you or John would like. Talk to you soon!”

* * *

_You have reached the voicemail inbox of Sherlock Holmes. Leave a short message—do not natter; relevant facts only—and I’ll return your message if there’s reason to. If you want someone to listen to your complaints, call John. *incoherent whispering* Thank you._

“Sherlock, Mummy again. So sweet of John to suggest that you two bring wine. Such a thoughtful young man. He’s quite good for you. You _are_ treating him well, aren’t you? Anyway. We were thinking of going to the special Christmas trivia night at the pub tomorrow, but it starts at half four. Will you two be in by then? Is John interested in joining us? You’re always talking about how smart he is, so we’d love to have him—and you—on our team. Let me know!”

* * *

_You have reached the voicemail inbox of Sherlock Holmes. Leave a short message—do not natter; relevant facts only—and I’ll return your message if there’s reason to. If you want someone to listen to your complaints, call John. *incoherent whispering* Thank you._

“Hello, dear. I know you’ve told me to leave it alone, but I can’t help but ask if John will be needing his own room? I wouldn’t even ask, except Myc mentioned something in passing about your party yesterday, and I just wondered…”

“Miriam, leave the boy alone. That’s for them to tell us if and when they want.”

“But I need to know how many rooms to get ready. No use in my cleaning three rooms if two will be enough.”

“You like cleaning. It’s, supposedly, keeping you busy until the boys arrive.”

“Ignore your father, dear. Just let me know how many rooms I need to prepare. See you tomorrow!”

* * *

 _You have reached the voicemail of John Watson and,_ apparently _, Sherlock Holmes. I’m unable to take your call. Please leave your name and number and a brief message, and I’ll get back to you. Thank you. *John! I need—click*_

“John, dear. This is Miriam Holmes. I cannot tell you how happy I am to hear about you and Sherlock. I know we don’t know you well, but this is _such_ lovely news, I just had to call and congratulate you myself. Sherlock started changing the moment you two moved in together, so I always knew you were special—and a part of me did always wonder if there was more to it. But I’m just an old mum who doesn’t know anything, so of course my suspicions were rebuffed. I am glad to see that my inklings were right. And–”

“Miriam. You’ll see the boy tomorrow. You can fawn over him them. I suppose if the boys haven’t scared him away, you wo–”

“Oh, hush, you. Now, John. We want you to feel completely comfortable in our home. If there’s anything you need—food, drink, whatever—please let me know. Oh, John. *sigh* I’m just so happy for you two. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?”

“How does your mum have my phone number?”

“John. She’s related to me and Mycroft.”

“Right. Well, Christmas should be interesting.”

“You have no idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're all adorable.


	24. 24 December, Gloves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets an early Christmas gift. He and John discuss their future.

“What’s this?” Sherlock looked up from his book when a neatly wrapped box was dropped in his lap.

“World’s Only Consulting Detective, Stymied by Christmas Gift. Makes for a good headline.”

John settled on the sofa next to Sherlock, crowding him against the arm, but Sherlock didn’t mind the lack of space. In fact, he was glad for it. It was nice, sharing this closeness with the weight of unsaid things gone from their shoulders. They could be comfortable now. Like it was, back when they first met and things were simpler.

“John.”

John braced his arm on the back of the sofa, and his hand landed at Sherlock’s neck, playing a bit with the hair there. Sherlock liked John like that, open with his affection and touches. He never though he’d get to have it, but here they were. He felt a bit tingly at the thought.

“Wanted to give you something early,” John explained. “Thought you might appreciate it for the trip out to your parent’s today.”

Sherlock attacked the gift to distract himself from trying to deduce it. He wanted to be surprised. Wrapping torn off, he lifted the lid of the box. “Oh. How did you–”

“Mycroft told me where to find them. Well, I asked him where to get them, he sighed and rolled his eyes, then divulged the information with much fanfare. Why do I get the feeling I owe him a favor now?”

“Because you do,” Sherlock retorted. He stroked the soft leather of the gloves in his lap. They were exactly like his old ones. He hadn’t found the one he’d misplaced somewhere between Birmingham and home, when he’d been too distracted by John’s revealing text to keep track of his things.

He was still surprised he’d managed to solve the case at all. He chalked it up to his desire to get back to John as quickly as possible. The two days apart—already annoying before they’d even had their conversation—were interminable once John had let him know that he wanted more from their relationship, so Sherlock had raced through the case as quickly as he could manage, trying not to get bogged down in thoughts of John and what he could mean by his “I’m yours” text declaration. So the fact that he’d only lost a glove was quite impressive. Well, and his heart, but that had been John’s long before the trip.

“John, these gloves aren’t che–”

“Sherlock. I’ve held a steady job as a doctor for two-plus years. I know you hate my keeping the job, but it lets me buy my—well, um— _you_ posh gloves from time to time, so you shouldn’t complain so much.”

Sherlock smiled. They hadn’t really labeled the thing they had now, and Sherlock was fine with that. They were happy. They knew where they stood with each other. His mother had probably had an apoplexy the moment she’d read his text saying they’d only need the one room at Christmas. It was good. It was more than good. It was brilliant. Even without a label, he could call John his and say he was John’s in return.

“I don’t hate that you’re a doctor, John.”

“You hate the fact that it means I can’t be with you for every case.”

Sherlock shrugged. “If you’re happy as a doctor, I’m not about to take that from you. I get you some of the time.” It was no fun, being selfless, but Sherlock really did want John to be happy, more than anything. So he’d suffer a little, and be glad for it.

“I was thinking…” John said slowly. “There’s a clinic Mike told me about, they specialize in war vets, and they need someone part time. I’ve been wanting to cut back my hours, and I’d get to help people in a more significant way at the same time. What do you think?”

Sherlock felt his eyes widen. “You– you’re asking _me_?”

“Oh, Sherlock,” John said softly. His hand cupped the back of Sherlock’s neck. It was warm and lovely. “Of course. It’s you and me against the rest of the world, remember?”

Sherlock could burst from happiness. It _was_ the two of them from here on out. “If you think the clinic would be a good fit, then I think you should do it. And you know I will never complain about you having more time to join me on cases. They get solved much faster with you around.”

John beamed up at him. “Yeah. Okay.” He looked at his watch. “Okay, we should get going if we want to make it in time for trivia with your parents.”

Sherlock groaned. “I’m going to regret introducing you to them, aren’t I?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m still not a Mycroft fan, poncy arse.”

“Good,” Sherlock said, trying not to grin too hard.

This was good. They were good. Life was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve, if that's you're thing. Otherwise, happy Sunday!. I hope you all are happy and somewhere you like with people you love. If not, sending lovely and happy thoughts your way.


	25. 25 December, “I Feel the Same”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is a time to say what you feel for those you love.

“Mmph. Sorry. Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you like that.”

“It’s fine, John. It was a taxing day after all. Christmas. Presents. _Family_.”

“You love your family, you git.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re easy to deal with.”

Laugh. “Don’t I know it.”

“How… is Harry?”

“Sounded sober when I talked to her. She’s at a friend’s, one who is good about holding her accountable. I think she’s doing well.”

“Good.”

“She wants to come over tomorrow night. Meet you. Bring presents.”

“Okay.”

“Really? Okay? Just like that?”

“She’s your sister, and you missed Christmas Day with her. You did Christmas with my family. It’s only fair I spend some time with yours.”

Pause. “God, I love you. I hope you never stop surprising me, Sherlock.” … “Oh. I. Um. Well, reckon that got said, huh?”

“You… love me?”

“Yeah, I do. I’m… _in_ love with you, if you want the whole of it. For ages, I think…”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I– Me– The same for me.”

“That’s good.”

“I love you, John Watson.”

“Very good.”

“I’m _in_ love with you.”

“Fantastic. Come here, you.”

“I’m already here.”

“Closer.”

Contented sigh.

“Happy Christmas, love.”

“Merry Christmas, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short one today. I thought I’d keep it simple and sweet. 
> 
> Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! I hope you were able to do something you loved today. I will have spent mine driving across the Great Plains. I'm making the husb listen to all of the Christmas episodes of Judge John Hodgeman. ;)


	26. 26 December, Boxing Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry visits Baker Street for Boxing Day.

“Johnny! Happy Christmas.” Harry is flushed with the cold, her eyes bright, but clear. Good. Sober again. It’s been half a year since her last drink, but he still worries about her. Because he’s her brother, and that’s what he’s meant to do.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” John says fondly, pulling his sister through the front door and out of the cold. He hangs her coat and scarf and leads her up the stairs to the flat, praying this evening goes well.

Sherlock and Harry have never met, and the idea of two strong personalities in the same room for several hours is a bit daunting. Not that John is a shrinking violet. It’s just that he’s already tired from being with the Holmeses yesterday. But that’s how the holidays work, isn’t it? It’s odd, thinking of him and Sherlock acting like a normal couple, visiting their families for Christmas and such. But it’s nice. He hopes they won’t be too normal though. He still wants the cases and the excitement and even the body parts hidden around the flat. He just wants them, being themselves and enjoying each other.

Sherlock, standing at the window, stops playing his violin. He lays it in its case and comes to stand in front of Harry. He holds a hand out. “Merry Christmas, Harry.”

Seeing Sherlock, gloveless and yet offering to shake Harry’s hand, makes John melt a little. The man who has always kept himself at a distance—hidden behind bespoke suits, a great flapping coat, and gloves—has become so open in the past few months. More than that, though, he’s pushing himself out of his comfort zone for John’s sake. And John loves him _so much_ in that moment, he can barely stand it. How did he get so lucky?

“Happy Christmas, Sherlock,” Harry says, taking the man’s hand. John hasn’t mentioned their new relationship status yet, but his sister is sizing up his partner all the same. They’ve never been close siblings, but they’ve still always been very protective of each other. He’s surprised she’s waited this long to meet Sherlock. Perhaps, like John, Harry realized during Sherlock’s time away that she missed out and is trying to make up for it now. Or perhaps her new sobriety is giving her a boost in curiosity. With Harry, who knows.

John leaves the two to their staring contest while he goes to pour (nonalcoholic) cider—a favorite of Harry’s since she was a kid. They’re trying this year, to be better, to be closer. They’re the only family each has left, and John would rather not lose that.

By the time he returns to the living room, Sherlock and Harry have seated themselves in the two comfy chairs. John hands them each a mug, then contemplates his own seating. He could grab the client chair, but that seems too formal. Plus, with his and Sherlock’s relationship is so new, they’re still in that “I want to be as close to you as possible as often as possible” stage, so he braces himself for Harry’s inevitable teasing comment and perches on the arm of his own chair, where Sherlock is seated. John wonders if Sherlock sat there purposefully, seeing as his own chair doesn’t allow for good arm perching, or if he just let Harry choose her seating first. Like Harry, Sherlock remains rather a mystery to John.

Harry smirks a little, but amazingly enough, keeps her thoughts to herself. The smirk quickly morphs into a genuinely happy expression, and it warms John through. She approves. Leave it to Harry to tease him mercilessly for years about something that wasn’t happening, then be happy for real when it actually happens. She wasn’t all that bad. Maybe there’s still a chance for them to do better. To be a family for real. John likes the idea. He’s apparently gone quite sappy with the holidays and the new thing with Sherlock. He doesn’t begrudge himself the feeling.

“So, happy holidays?” Harry asks, humming with approval as she tastes the cider.

John nods, knowing Sherlock will leave the small talk to him. “It’s been good, yeah. The clinic has been mad, and so have the cases, but yeah, it’s been a very good Christmas.”

“The best,” Sherlock adds softly, looking up at John.

Harry smiles knowingly. She mentions the Hanukkah case she read about on John’s blog, and soon Sherlock is chattering away about his favorite cases, with John interjecting a few times when Sherlock gets a bit too focused on things no one but him understands. It’s endearing to John, but he realizes most everyone else doesn’t care.

Mrs. Hudson, who insisted on cooking for the gathering (“Your cooking is lovely, John, dear, but how about something a little fancier for a family holiday meal?”), arrives an hour or so later. She glows when Sherlock asks her to stay for dinner, insisting she’s family too.

After a satisfying meal, Mrs. Hudson asks for a few songs on the violin, so she and Sherlock move to the living room while John and Harry tidy up a bit and make tea. Harry corners him, as John expected she would. She’s not aggressive or even overly effusive. She smiles softly, spooning tea leaves into the tea pot while John rinses dishes.

“You’re happy,” she states simply.

John, despite being filled with more emotions than he can even count, replies, just as simply, “I really am.”

Harry turns to him, hip braced on the worktop. “I was angry, you know, when he first came back. I watched you grieve for two years, and the idea of Sherlock just waltzing back in and wanting to pick back up where you left off without so much as a by-your-leave made me want to rage, grind my teeth, give that bastard what for.”

John smiles. He’s seen Harry like that before, and he _does_ understand where she’s coming from. He’d felt those things too, in the beginning. He was less angry after they had sat down and aired a few grievances, given a few explanations. He’s not angry anymore. He doesn’t let himself get defensive of Sherlock, though either. He can tell she has more to say.

“I…” she bites her lip and looks away. “I had a drink after I heard. Not just because I was angry and not wanting to deal with my feelings, but because I thought you were putting yourself back into an unhealthy situation. If you couldn’t break away, what chance did I have with alcohol?”

“Oh, Harry.” John’s chest tightens, and he feels a pricking at the corners of his eyes. He puts the plate he’s rinsing down and dries his hands on a towel. He turns toward his sister, a woman who is much stronger these days than she lets herself believe.

She shakes her head. “I called a friend. She listened to me, then she asked that I listen to her. She said that I have every right to be upset, that I care about you and want to protect you, and that’s great. But she asked me to remember that I had made myself pretty scarce when you two were flatmates before. I couldn’t know what the situation between you two really was, and so I couldn’t judge or presume to know what was happening now. It took a while, but she talked me down, I called my accountability partner, and went to a meeting the next day. I’ve been sober since then.”

John pulls Harry into his arms. “I’m so sorry. I never meant–”

“Stop that, you prat,” Harry chastises while hugging him back. “You blame yourself for too much; you always have. This stumble happened because of me and my demons, my insecurities.” She pulled away when the kettle clicked off and looked at him seriously before busying herself with tea making. “I didn’t tell you this to upset you. I just wanted you to know I care what happens to you, and that I understand that your situation is a lot more complicated than it looks from the outside. And I… now I truly can see how happy you are. And not just you, but Sherlock too. I know I’ve never met the man, but he looks at you with such love. All evening I’ve watched him take your thoughts and feelings into account, and it calms my anxiety. And not just your feelings, but Mrs. Hudson’s as well. I don’t know if he was always like this, and you just glossed over that in your blog, or if he’s really changed, but that doesn’t really matter. He loves you.”

She smirks as she finishes putting tea cups onto the tray. “And leave it to my idiot baby brother to decide a dramatic, posh git is worth finally admitting he’s bisexual. You don’t do things by half, do you?”

John glares at her. “I told you about my orientation ages go. It’s not like I was denying it.”

“Yeah, but what a way to come out to the wider world,” she retorts with a grin and picks up the tea tray. “I’m proud of you, Johnny.”

“I’m proud of you too, Harriet,” John replies, and he means it. They’ve both come a long way in the past few years. He’s glad their relationship looks to be heading in the same direction.


	27. 27 December, “Thank God That’s Over”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock discuss what to do now that Christmas is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Texting (aka, formatting) ahead.

Sherlock  
  
**Today** 09:08  
**John:** Where’d you go? If it’s a case, I’ll be upset you didn’t wake me.  
09:08  
**Sherlock:** You looked tired, so I let you sleep. Molly had a liver she was about to bin if I didn’t pick it up this morning. SH  
09:11  
**John:** Lovely. Shall I clear some space in the fridge?  
09:13  
**Sherlock:** If you don’t mind. I’ll bring back bagels. SH  
09:13  
**John:** Thanks. :) Plans for the day?  
09:14  
**Sherlock:** I’d like to get started on the liver as soon as possible. You? SH  
09:15  
**John:** I guess a Die Hard marathon is out then.  
09:15  
**Sherlock:** You can put it on. I’ll listen while I work. I could be talked into moving to the sofa a bit later, if you make it worth my while. SH  
09:15  
**John:** The Christmas miracles continue! I will make it worth your while and will add it to the calendar: Sofa cuddle with himself, 18:00. ;)  
09:16  
**Sherlock:** Must you call it that? We’re two grown men. SH  
09:16  
**John:** If you’re going to latch on to me every time we’re within arm’s reach of each other, yeah.  
09:17  
**Sherlock:** If you don’t like it, I’ll stop. SH  
09:17  
**John:** I love it, you idiot. I just didn’t expect it from you.  
09:18  
**Sherlock:** It makes it feel more real, when I touch you. It reminds me that this is real now, that I’m the luckiest bastard to ever walk the earth. SH  
09:20  
**John:** I think we both got pretty lucky.  
09:21  
**Sherlock:** Indeed. SH  
09:21  
**Sherlock:** Ordering. Everything bagel, toasted with cream cheese? Coffee? SH  
09:22  
**John:** You know me too well Sherlock Holmes. Yes to it all.  
09:22  
**Sherlock:** So what is this Die Hard film? Well, it must be several films, since you called it a marathon. Unless you intend to watch the same film over and over? SH  
09:28  
**John:** Haha! Several films, but I would indeed watch the original multiple times in a row. It’s a Christmas classic.  
09:29  
**Sherlock:** A film called Die Hard is about Christmas? Also, Christmas is over, thank God. SH  
09:30  
**John:** It’s only the 3rd day of Christmas. We have 9 more days to go.  
09:31  
**Sherlock:** Please tell me we’re not watching Christmas films every bloody day from now until 6th January. SH  
09:31  
**John:** No. I know your limits.  
09:32  
**Sherlock:** Good, I’d hate to have to get rid of you just after you’re all trained up. SH  
09:32  
**John:** Watch it or you’ll be sleeping on the sofa. Wait, that’s not really much of a punishment is it?  
09:33  
**Sherlock:** Of course it is. It’s much colder on the sofa. And you’re not there. SH  
09:33  
**John:** :D Good to know.  
09:34  
**Sherlock:** Pulling up now. Come and open the door for me? SH  
09:35  
**Sherlock:** There’s a kiss in it for you if you do. SH  
09:35  
**John:** Since you asked nicely. ;)  
09:35  



	28. 28 December, Many Happy Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Stella go to the zoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you need a reminder on Molly and Stella's story, read Day 14 and Day 22.

“I like your hat.”

“Thanks! A really cool friend knitted it for me.”

“She must be cool, if she’s making you awesome hats like that.”

“The coolest.”

“So, ready to start the zoo experience?”

“Definitely. And, um, thanks, Stella, for letting me come with you.”

“Of course! Us cool kids have to stick together.”

“I’m not– I’m not cool. Not at all.”

“What on Earth are you talking about, Molls? You’re so cool.”

“No, I’m not. I’m the mousy little background person with a weird sense of humor and too many cats.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

“Molls… I think you’re amazing. You’re brilliant and funny and you like Doctor Who. You help solve murders. You let me natter on about work. You know all of these crazy, random facts—we _are_ starting a trivia team, by the way. You’re super helpful and kind. You’re totally cracking.”

… “Oh. Thank you.”

“Psh. I said nothing you don’t deserve hearing.”

“I’ve been trying to be more… positive lately. Telling myself I deserve good things.”

“You deserve the best. I’m making it my job now to help you see that.”

“You’re a good egg, Stella.”

“I try. Now let’s go see some animals.”

* * *

“The only continents without otters are Australia and Antarctica.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. They’ve been hunted close to extinction many other places too.”

“That’s sad.”

“It is. Why are humans so cruel sometimes?”

“If I knew the answer to that, I would happily put myself out of a job curing that little problem.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Stella.”

“What? Curing the world’s ills?”

“Sort of. Being a detective, it must be so hard. Seeing all of that cruelty up close. I couldn’t do it.”

“But you _do_ do it. You have to see all of the bodies too. You have to take them apart and figure them out. It’s not any easier.”

“It is for me. I see them out of context. I’m able to divorce myself from it to some degree, just focus on the bodies themselves. It’s still not fun, but it’s easier. But you, you’re looking at terrible photos over and over, interviewing friends and family, putting yourself in the minds of killers. You’re so brave.”

“We’re both brave in our own ways, Molls. Now, no more sad talk. Today is a happy day. It’s a gorgeous winter morning, we’re hanging out, and we’re at the zoo. Let’s let this year end on a good note so we can start next year in a good place. Okay?”

“You’re amazing, you know that? And I agree. No more negativity today. Did you know penguins are only found naturally in the southern hemisphere?”

“Really?”

“Yup. And they swallow a lot of water when hunting, but a gland behind their eyes filters the salt out of their blood. They sneeze to expel it.”

“Oh my God, that is precious. I want to see a penguin sneeze! How do you know so much about animals?”

“I watch a lot of nature shows.”

“We should have a marathon someday. Get pizza and sweets, maybe some wine. Make a fun night of it.”

“You think a fun night would be watching nature documentaries with me?”

“Sure! You’re fun, animals are fun, food and alcohol are fun. What’s not to love? No. No, Molls. None of this ‘Oh no, I’m not that great, Stella.’ Remember? Think positively.”

“Right. Okay. Yes, we should do it.”

“Awesome. Can’t wait! Oh! Alpacas. I looove alpacas. Have you ever felt alpaca yarn? It’s soooo soft.”

“Yes! My favorite scarf when I was a kid was made with alpaca yarn. It was so lovely, like being wrapped in a fluffy cloud.”

“I’ll make you a new one then.”

“Stella, no. You just made me a hat…”

“So? Who else have I got to knit for?”

“Family?”

“Meh, they got a ton from me when I was teenager. Plus, you were the one to get me back into knitting. I hadn’t knit anything in at least two years before I made your hat. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it. Oh! Speaking of. I started making a TARDIS cowl with the yarn you gave me for Christmas. It’s going to be amazing.”

“Good. I’m glad you like it.”

“I do. I like all of the gifts you got me.”

“I only gave you two things. Nothing compared to all of the fun little gifts I got from my _elf_.”

“Are you kidding? I only did that to thank you for being my friend. You were the first friend I made here in London. I was feeling lost, and you were so welcoming and sweet and lovely. I was having a pretty shite day when we met, actually. And then there you were, all giggly and funny. It was the first time I thought maybe the move to London wasn’t such a bad thing after all.”

“Oh. Well. Glad I could help.”

“You did help. Sooo much. And today too. Today is lovely. It’s my birthday, you know.”

“What? Why aren’t you out celebrating?”

“I am, you silly goose. I’m at the zoo with my awesome friend on a gorgeous day.”

“Oh. Yes, of course. Well, many happy returns.”

“Thank you.”

“So. Where does the birthday girl want to go out to eat after the zoo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can check out the pattern Stella mentions here: [ https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/tilting-tardis-cowl ](https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/tilting-tardis-cowl). I have made it myself, and it’s awesome.
> 
> For those of you interested, I've continued Molly and Stella's story over in a [new series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/960264). Part 1 is the three ficlets in this story, Part 2 is a new Valentines ficlet (gen or pre-slash), and Part 3 is a ficlet collection detailing the Hoopkins friends to lovers story (slash, woohoo!).


	29. 29 December, Bad Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An afternoon cooped up at the flat isn't such a bad thing from time to time.

There’s a loud crash upstairs, followed by running feet and muffled cursing.

“Sherlock! You okay? What happened. What the hell is all over our floor?”

“It’s Mrs. Hudson’s floor.”

“Well, we’ll be the one paying for it if this doesn’t clean up. Is there anything acidic or fire starting in there?”

“Don’t worry, John. It’s completely benign. Just a mess.”

“It better be.”

Martha chuckles and shakes her head as her tenants continue talking more quietly. The blizzard that rolled in early this morning has kept those two ridiculous boys cooped up all day. She’s surprised it’s taken this long for the antics and loud noises to start up. She credits the morning quiet to the recently upgraded relationship status of her idiots. They’re in that honeymoon phase, so they’ve been busy being occupied with each other rather than bickering or being bored enough to terrorize her house. Truthfully, their relationship hasn’t changed that much, but they’re both happier and less tense than they were right after they moved back to Baker Street.

She, of course, is very happy for them, though she’s still annoyed it took almost two years of living together, a faked death, and almost two months after their reunion for them to make it this far. They never were the brightest emotionally, which is funny considering how emotional they both are—the two biggest drama queens she knows. They do provide quality entertainment, when they’re not destroying the flat or yelling at each other.

But there’s no yelling these days, except when one of them is in trouble. Now, they’re all sweet, shy smiles and calming touches. It’s been lovely to watch, especially given the long wait. Martha denies that being able to finally catch up with Mrs. Turner has anything to do with her happiness.

She puts the finishing touches on the tea tray and makes the trek upstairs. If they’re making such noises, it’s safe to enter the flat. Not that she’s heard or seen anything too intimate this week, but one must still be careful in these situations. Mrs. Turner has plenty of stories about that.

Despite the sounds that say the antics are family friendly, Martha still waits after her knock until she gets the all clear from Sherlock. She enters through the lounge. The crash had come from the kitchen, so it’s likely a mess. Sure enough, there’s something orange splattered all over the floor, and a bowl lies upside down under the table.

“Oh, Sherlock. I just cleaned your lino yesterday.”

“Which means it’s safe enough to scrape it up and bake it, right?” Sherlock asks hopefully.

Martha and John both look at him like he’s barmy. Which, to be fair, he almost always is.

He rolls his eyes dramatically. “It’s dough for pumpkin biscuits, or the beginnings of it anyway. My mother’s recipe.”

They continue giving him the look. John wrinkles his brow.

Sherlock sighs. “Mummy and I used to make these during the week between Christmas and New Year’s. I assume it was a way to keep me occupied one winter holiday, and then I just kept asking for it every year after that.”

“But why this year?” John finally asks. Martha is pretty sure she knows the answer but let’s Sherlock explain it.

He shrugs self-consciously. “A number of reasons. Spending Christmas with my family this year, being back at Baker Street. Then the snow this morning. I just…”

John smiles, hand going to Sherlock’s arm. “I get it. I would’ve helped, you know.”

“I can do it myself,” Sherlock says a bit defensively.

“I know that, you berk. But this was an activity you always did with someone else. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

Martha wants to erase the self-conscious look off of Sherlock’s face. He shouldn’t need to apologize for being nostalgic. The fact that he made the biscuits at all is near miraculous. Martha gets to work repairing the damage.

“John, scrape what you can into a bowl. _And bin it_ ,” she emphasizes. “Sherlock, wipe up what’s left with a towel. I’ll get the mop and clean this up.”

They hop to it, and before long, the floor is pristine (for 221b, that is) again. Martha subtly nudges them into starting again, sending John down to her kitchen for a few ingredients that Sherlock had used up during the previous attempt. She then sits herself down to chat while drinking tea as her two boys bustle around the kitchen recreating the dough.

It’s lovely, this moment of familial domesticity. The boys are behaving themselves, but still teasing each other gently. There are soft touches and quiet smiles, laughter and stories as the dough is placed on pans and put into the oven. More tea is enjoyed as they wait for the biscuits to bake, the warm scent of spices and pumpkin filling the room and mixing with the bit of pine coming from the fire. Outside, fluffy white flakes tumble past the window, creating drifts that will soon be plowed into dirty grey piles. But for now, everything is just as it should be on a cold winter day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me why the cookies are pumpkin rather than snickerdoodle or ginger or something more Christmasy. I was just craving pumpkin cookies when I wrote this... Still craving them, actually.


	30. 30 December, Auld Lang Syne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little brotherly remembering as the year draws to a close, and the passing on of a torch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, I'm going to be a bit busy the next few evenings, and my writing is complete, so I figured I'd go ahead and post a second chapter tonight. If you haven't read about cookie baking in 221b, go back to Chapter 29 before reading this one (or read it after this; I'm not bothered). I most likely won't post the last ficlet (*sob*) tonight, but you never know. Maybe I'll feel confident enough in my writing and editing (hahahaha) to go ahead and post it anyway.
> 
> Also. Wow, it took me 30 days to pull Mycroft into this collection. Someone’s been a naughty boy…

“The files on Staffordshire, as requested. Not sure why you needed them _today_ , or why you couldn’t just have your PA come and fetch them. I was _busy_.”

Mycroft raises an eyebrow. He knows that Sherlock knows precisely why he made him bring the files himself, and why today. It’s a game they’ve played for years. Both feel the need to at least make a nod at filial connections as the year comes to a close, but neither is willing to be forthright about it. So one will text the other with “business” of some sort; usually it’s Mycroft making the first gesture. Being the eldest brings with it a certain sense of responsibility. It’s a martyrdom he accepts willingly for the most part.

He thinks back on past years. During the last two, Sherlock was, of course, out of the country, but Mycroft still managed to get messages through to Sherlock. He thinks his brother appreciated that. During the New Year’s Eve before that, Sherlock was actually almost cheerful, a mere week after Ms. Adler had been found—well, so they thought—dead, when Sherlock was free to go back to his little… thing with Dr. Watson (though Ms. Adler came back from the dead and ruined that idea quite quickly). Their encounters a few years before that were full of banter, but without the cheer. Before _that_ … well, best not to remember those years too much. Suffice it to say no one was happy then.

There is a change again this year. Despite his opening salvo, Mycroft can see how happy Sherlock is. He’d seen it at their Christmas ‘do and then again during the family gathering a few days later. He doesn’t expect the good mood to go away anytime soon, though he also doesn’t hold out hope that the sullen rejoinders will disappear. Sherlock will continue to make the motions of being jaded and at war with the world, but Mycroft knows his baby brother too well. He can see it in the small ticks and expressions that Sherlock doesn’t bother to hide—more proof of just how content he finally is.

It's been a long time coming, this match up. Mycroft had seen it from the beginning, but he’d also seen that it wouldn’t come easily. He hadn’t foreseen just how difficult the journey would be, though. But no matter now. The mad duo that’s been a thorn in his side for three-plus years is more unbreakable than ever now. Speaking of…

“I thought Dr. Watson might be joining you.”

“Made a stop at the gents, as I’m sure you well know.”

Mycroft makes a point of sighing loudly. “I do not keep you two monitored constantly. I do have a life.”

“One that revolves around me, the way you go on sometimes.”

Mycroft drops the act just a bit. “You have a new protector now, Sherlock. My watchful eye is no longer necessary.”

Sherlock’s face softens a tiny bit. “Thank you.” The words hold multiple meanings. _Thank you for watching over me. Thank you for trusting John with my heart and my life. Thank you for trusting me to choose a good partner. Thank you for knowing when to let go._

Except, has he chosen the correct time to let go? Sherlock has been fine for years. Joining the fold of the Met gave him purpose and a moral compass. It gave him a friend in Lestrade, someone who did his own part in being Sherlock’s protector. Perhaps Mycroft has held on too long. He mentally shrugs. Nothing for it now.

“Resolutions for the New Year?” Mycroft asks dryly, swerving before things get too… emotional.

Sherlock scoffs. “Despite John’s attempts, no.”

Mycroft knows a prevarication when he sees it. He can’t see the details, but he knows Sherlock’s secret vow involves Dr. Watson in some way. There are much worse resolutions, so Mycroft brushes off the sentimentality of it. Things will only get worse as the years go on.

“And you? Finally decide to stick to a diet? You could use–”

“Come now, Sherlock. Can’t you just–”

“Sod off, Mycroft.”

“…not for one day.”

The door to Mycroft’s office clicks and swings open, revealing his brother’s partner—in crime as well as in life.

“Oh good, seems I’m just in time for the bickering.”

“Dr. Watson.”

“Mycroft.”

“You can call him John, you know. Since he– because we–”

John and Mycroft turn to Sherlock in surprise. While Mummy had been overly effusive at Christmas, John and Sherlock haven’t mentioned their new relationship status at all in Mycroft’s company. Knowing both his brother and Dr. Watson—John—Mycroft hadn’t expected that to change. However… sentiment. It makes even the most logical person a stuttering mess. He hears the death knell for the end of the Unshakeable Holmes Brothers, but he can’t manage to properly begrudge it. Sherlock’s always been the emotional one, and Mycroft is beginning to think that his brother will benefit from having someone to share his life with, despite how it will cloud his judgement.

“If we’re done here, brother mine, John and I should be on our way.”

“Pressing engagement?”

“Yes. A date.” Sherlock swings himself dramatically out of his chair and pulls John toward the door.

Mycroft manages to stifle the smile bubbling up. “Ah. Well. My… felicitations.”

“Quite.” Sherlock strides out of the door, histrionic as ever. Mycroft shakes his head at the predictability.

“Dr. Watson?”

John turns from following Sherlock out the door, head cocked in question.

“John,” Mycroft continues more softly. “Watch over him for me? Please?” It’s a risk, exposing himself like this. But he does trust John. And Sherlock’s happiness and safety are worth it.

John’s face softens, and a smile hovers just behind his polite façade. “Yeah. ‘Course.” He nods. “Good luck in the new year, Mycroft.”

“The same to you, John.”


	31. 31 December, New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John ring in the new year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is the last chapter. *sob*
> 
> Warning: I wrote this last night and have only edited it twice through, so there's probably still lots of typos. Apologies.

Sherlock woke up with a crick in his neck, a draft on his feet, and a sleeping John on his shoulder. He took a moment to orient himself. It was New Year’s Eve, no New Year’s Day, according to the clock, which stated it was almost two in the morning. They had been watching some New Year’s Eve show on the telly, one with terrible musical performances and annoying emcees. John had insisted they have it on so they could ring in the new year and watch the fireworks shows from other cities around the world, but mostly he and John had talked over it. It had been a quiet, pleasant evening—a little alcohol in celebration, but nothing out of hand, quiet conversation with the person he loved most in this world, and the warm cocoon that seemed to hang around him and John constantly these days.

Somehow, they’d both managed to fall asleep before midnight. At least, Sherlock assumed John had dropped off around the same time he had. Their conversation had slowed, John had scooted down the sofa cushion to rest his head on Sherlock’s shoulder, and they’d drowsily watched the horrible presenters natter on.

Knowing they’d regret it if they stayed on the sofa for the rest of the night, Sherlock put his free hand to John’s cheek. “Wake up,” he whispered lowly. John groaned and dug his head deeper into Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock tried again. “John, we should go to bed.” Another groan was his only answer. Sherlock smiled, gently extricated himself from John, and pulled them both to standing, letting John lean on him rather than try a third time to wake him.

By the time they made it to the bedroom, John was awake enough to undress himself and climb into bed, and he sighed softly as he burrowed under the covers. “Hurry up,” he mumbled. “The sheets are cold.”

Sherlock chuckled, shucked his pajama bottoms, and crawled in beside John. “Rude,” he teased. “You’re supposed to warm them for me, not force me to warm them myself.”

“Make it a group effort,” John replied drowsily, inching close to Sherlock and putting his arm around Sherlock’s waist.

Sherlock hummed happily as he let himself be situated to John’s exacting specifications. If asked who would be the picky one about how he slept, most people would pick Sherlock, but it was John who needed to be facing a certain way with Sherlock positioned just so in order to fall asleep (sofa kipping aside). When asked, John had said that positioning himself in the same way every night had helped him go to sleep faster after he’d first returned from Afghanistan. He’d needed a sense of routine and feeling of familiar comfort in order to relax. Whereas Sherlock was used to getting sleep when and where he allowed it, without any sort of routine to fall back on. Still, he found John’s routine comforting, and he did accede that he’d been falling asleep much faster ever since John had taken up residence in his bed. Of course, it could also be that clocking John’s vitals and learning his every bump and crease and angle as the nodded off was a bit like counting sheep to Sherlock—a good way to slow his brain down enough to let it relax.

He was ready to begin that nightly routine when John sighed in his ear. “We missed midnight,” John noted.

“We’ve both seen many starts to many years, I’m sure we’re allowed to miss a few.”

“But it was our first one t’gether. It deserved special cel’bration,” John slurred sleepily.

Sherlock warmed at the thought. John was much freer with his thoughts and feelings now that they were together. It was as if he’d only kept everything so tightly bottled was because he was afraid of revealing his love for Sherlock. And now that that was out in the open, he didn’t care about the rest. Sherlock understood the feeling. It was liberating for them both, though it had started even before they’d even kissed. It had begun one month ago, when John said he wanted Sherlock around for the rest of his life.

He hadn’t revealed his complete feelings then, and neither had Sherlock, but they’d taken that first step, that pledge to spend their lives together, to put each other over anyone else. They could’ve kissed then and there, but Sherlock had enjoyed spreading it out a little, feeling that will-they-won’t-they tension, enjoying the little flirtations John so loved to give in their texting conversations, reveling in the increasingly open looks and touches from John and Sherlock giving his own in return. And now here they were, over a week into their new relationship, happy and open and starting a new year together. He understood John’s disappointment in being unable to ring in the new year together, but it was fine. He’d spent it sleeping and curled up with John, which was somehow maybe a bit better. It illustrated their comfort level with each other, which was a much better indicator of the longevity of their relationship than some big, showy kiss at a somewhat arbitrary moment of time. Still, he understood.

“If you can hold out for…” he checked his phone, “three more minutes, we can celebrate with Rio de Janeiro.”

John chuckled. “Okay, let’s…” he yawned, “do that.” He tightened his arm around Sherlock’s waist.

“What did you decide for your resolution?” Sherlock asked, mostly to keep John awake, but also because he was curious. John had been mentioning it for days, but hadn’t said what’d he’d landed on. Sherlock, of course, wasn’t pledging anything definite, though he’d tacitly vowed to make John happy. That was enough to be going on with, he thought.

“Oh,” John began with a hum. “Spend the year proving I’m worth a lifetime with you.” He rubbed his nose against Sherlock’s cheek. “Figured that would annoy you far less than a fitness regime or dieting or, I dunno, being less of an arse to other people.”

It was simultaneously greater and less than any answer John could have given. Less because it wasn’t as if John hadn’t been doing that all along, and greater because it made Sherlock feel special, to have such a vow concentrated on him, of all people. He scooted even closer to John, careful not to upset their current arrangement.

“Oh, John, I’ve known your worth for years. Maybe not from day one, otherwise I wouldn’t have turned down you chatting me up that first night, but definitely early days. Hell, you jumped on Moriarty’s back while covered in explosives for me. You, John Watson, are worth everything to me. You have been for ages, and you will continue to be so for the rest of our lives.”

John propped himself up on his elbow, leaned over Sherlock, and put a hand to Sherlock’s cheek. “Never stop amazing me, Sherlock. God, how did I get so lucky to find you? I think you proved your worth to me that first day, in the lab. You read me in a way not even my therapist had managed after two months of sessions. It was… freeing to be seen without having to explain myself for once, for you to understand where I came from and what I needed to feel valuable and wanted. I knew then that you would play an important part in my life, and that grew only more obvious over time. It hasn’t always been easy, you and me, but we’ve managed to get this far. I have high hopes that the rest of life’s challenges won’t be insurmountable if we stay honest with each other.” John stopped a moment, then chuckled.

“What?”

“It’s just gone midnight at the start of a new year, and the two of us are talking like we’re in a wedding ceremony.” He laid back down, snuggling back into position next to Sherlock.

“Did you… were you hoping…” Sherlock had trouble making himself ask. He didn’t want to disappoint John, but he wasn’t sure the whole wedding song-and-dance was necessary. He would do it, though, if it made John feel more secure.

“No,” John said with a sigh that sounded content. Good. “It’s just a paper stating what we already know. And in this day and age, really, something said in a church or in front of witnesses doesn’t really hold much more intent than what we’re saying now. We’ve been marinating all month in the idea of spending our lives together, longer, really, at least in our own heads. Maybe down the road we’ll decide the tax benefits are worth it, but as a means of pledging ourselves to each other, not necessary.”

Sherlock relaxed as John talked. It shouldn’t surprise him that they agreed on this. They were two danger-loving mad men. Marriage wasn’t a priority for either of them. Still, that didn’t mean romance wasn’t warranted. He did want to make it clear what he expected out of their future.

“I agree,” he replied. “And, for the record… I vow, John Watson, to love you, to make you laugh, to keep adventure in your life. I promise I won’t abandon you when this gets difficult. I won’t let jealousy or boredom or criminal masterminds interfere with our happiness. I’ve loved you for years, and I’ll continue to do so for as long as I’m alive.”

Sherlock felt John’s smile through the t-shirt covering his shoulder and John’s fingers rubbing softly over his hip, a comforting and mindless gesture. “I vow, Sherlock Holmes, to love you, protect you, and stand tall by your side. I will support you in your mad schemes, learn as much as I can from your genius mind, and take the mickey out of you every once in a while to keep you from getting too big a head.”

“Hey,” Sherlock complained insincerely, pinching John’s arm.

John giggled. “I won’t let anger or hopelessness or lack of understanding get in the way of you and me. I’ll always ask for stolen ashtrays and make jokes only you understand. I may have sometimes hated your actions, but I’ve always love you, and I plan on doing the same for the rest of my life.”

The idea of them growing old together seemed to not become any more boring or commonplace the more they talked about it. Sherlock’s heart was light, and a happy hum infused his body. He was in bed on New Year’s Day with the man he loved and had just vowed to spend the rest of his life with. No other holiday would beat this one out. The winter solstice would always hold a special place for being the moment they first kissed. But this was more comfortable, more… forever.

“To a new year and the beginning of a new life,” he whispered against John’s temple.

“To us,” John replied. “Happy New Year,” he mumbled, beginning to drift off again.

“Happy New Year, John.”

With such an auspicious beginning, Sherlock knew it would be a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I get too schmoopy at the end? I felt like it got too schmoopy. Oh well, that's what these boys wanted...
> 
> Holy schmoly. When I decided to challenge myself to a month of daily writing, I did not expect to write 28K. These were supposed to be cutesy, short ficlets that made me work from pre-existing prompts rather than the random crap that pops out of my head. Instead, I ended up with an actual fic of sorts. I got to tell stories from POVs I love but rarely allow myself to enjoy. Hell, I learned CSS for this fic, totally last minute and with fairly decent results. December has ended up being my own personal NaNoWriMo.
> 
> I have always written fanfic for two reasons. One, for myself: to tell stories I want to see told and to improve my writing. And two, to share my stories with those few out there who share my weird need for things like a Sherlock/Stargate fusion (yes, I’ve written that; it’s called Symbiosis; read it if you dare). Even if a story I write is only loved by two people, it’s still worth it to bring happiness to someone who might need it right at that moment. I hope I’ve managed that with this fic(let collection).
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has commented and kudoed already, and for those who will do so in the future. Thanks to even those silent voices who only gave me a higher hit count. I hope you found something worth your time. :)  
> I’ve never nattered on like this at the end of a fic (then again, I’ve never written daily for a whole month either), so I feel a bit silly and will stop now. I hope y’all all enjoyed my writing and will follow along with whatever I decide to write next (or I could force myself to finish the fake relationship on a cruise fic or the Last Five Years pastiche that I’m currently writing *sigh*). 
> 
> Please holler at me in the comments or on Tumblr. Bye now. ~ Meag

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumbler [@vateacancameos](http://vateacancameos.tumblr.com/).


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